Indestructible
by Amiphobic
Summary: Series of unrelated oneshots for Bechloe Week 2013. Individual ratings for chapters within.
1. 1 Loss

**A/N: For Bechloe week, Day 1: Loss.**

**Chapter Rating: T**

* * *

"Yeah, but how do you ever know if someone likes you? Even if they say it, you never _really _know."

Jesse shrugs, unfazed by her negativity, his arm slung casually over her shoulder, "_I_ like you."

"But how do I know you're not just saying that?" Unconvinced, Beca fiddles with her headphone jack. "What reassurance will I ever have?"

"I guess none," he admits after a silence. "But, I mean, you can spend all your time and effort being paranoid and cynical, or you can just believe in something…nice."

"Well, what if they don't say anything. In those cases, how can you tell?"

With a nervous laugh, he muses, "I guess, by their behavior? Like you hung out with me and I mean, you kissed me, so there's that."

"Whatever," she changes the subject. "Let's go to Sonic."

Bouncing to his feet, Jesse helps her up, "Why?"

"I don't know," answers Beca. "I just wonder if she likes me back."

A well-discussed topic, he merely gives her a sympathetic look, "She does."

"You're really okay talking about this?"

"Hey," he holds his hands up defensively. "I was the one who suggested exploring our options before committing."

"Yeah, okay." She slugs his shoulder playfully, "You're not so bad, Swanson."

* * *

The next morning she wakes with a throbbing headache, her ears ringing, and a sore throat. For fuck's sake, it's summer; this is not the season she typically gets ill. Assuming it's simply allergies, Beca dresses for the day – work and then dinner with Chloe and Cynthia-Rose.

About halfway through the day she acquires a cough.

Beca pauses.

Luke looks at her. He opens his mouth-

"I know," Beca grumbles. "Strict no germs policy. It's just allergies."

He looks at her dubiously, but doesn't press any further.

* * *

And then just before dinner she sneezes.

Cynthia-Rose happens to witness it as she turns the corner to meet up with her. "Whoa there, getting sick, DJ?"

"Allergies," Beca insists.

"If you're sure."

* * *

"Order some orange juice," Chloe supplies helpfully as they sit down at a patio table. "It helps if your throat hurts."

Beca makes a disgusted face.

"Fine," the redhead tosses her hair back. "Suffer then!"

"It's just allergies!"

* * *

Beca pats herself down frantically. No. No, this is not good at all. She checks one more time, flipping her pockets inside out (tissues and coins falling to the floor) searching for her room key. With a curse, she flings a quarter down the hallway.

It's too late to call student support services for the master key and Kimmy Jin spends Thursday nights at her boyfriend's. (Calling Kimmy Jin is the likely solution, but Beca's never had the guts to ask her for her number.)

She pulls out her phone and dials Chloe's number, she's the only one nearby with an apartment. As it rings, Beca feels her nose starting to run and she pulls out a tissue.

"Hello?"

"Hey, can I ask for a huge favor?"

Yes and yes it turns out. Relieved, Beca hangs up.

Then she chases after the quarter, 'cause money is money.

* * *

"Thanks for putting up with me for a night," Beca says before breaking out into another fit of coughs.

Concernedly, Chloe presses the back of her hand to Beca's forehead. "You're kind of warm, are you okay?"

"Allergies," Beca answers for what must be the millionth time.

"You want some chicken noodle soup? That always makes me feel better," she smiles, already headed to the kitchen.

"I guess I can't say no to that."

* * *

"Urgh," Beca groans as the sunlight streams in through the curtains. "Too early," she rasps, her words barely making it out of her mouth.

She clears her throat and tries again, "Early." It's still fairly hoarse, so she gets up to take a drink of water.

Surprisingly, Chloe's already up and cooking breakfast in the kitchen, dancing around, one earbud dangling around her neck. Afraid of waking Beca, she hums quietly under her breath. She thrusts her hip to the side along with the music.

Amused, Beca watches the display from the living room divide, crossing her arms.

Finally after an overenthusiastic spin, Chloe notices her, and rips her earphones out of her ear. "Oh good morning!"

"Morning," Beca croaks. "Water, please?" Her voice is noticeably getting worse.

But even after she takes a few large gulps, her throat still constricts, closing around her words.

"I'm losing my voice," she states the obvious.

"Maybe you should see a doctor."

Chloe picks up the phone and finally Beca confesses.

"I might be sick."

* * *

"I'm thinking it's laryngitis," Dr. Spachemin pats her knee comfortingly.

"You think?"

"Well, the dangling thing in the back of your mouth is swollen too, so you might also have some sort of fatal disease, I'm not sure!"

Beca hops off the examination table as Chloe looks at the doctor critically, "Well can you prescribe something?"

"It's called a fatal disease for a reason, Ms. Beale," he laughs amicably. "Oh! You mean the laryngitis. Sure, here, take this twice a day for four days. Or is that four times a day for two days? Either way, you'll figure it out." His broad grin never fades as he hands a small bag to Chloe.

Suspiciously, Chloe takes it and waves a farewell as they leave.

"Now where did I put my stetho-thingy?"

* * *

"That doctor sucked," Beca wheezes as she gets into the car, coughing again.

Chloe shushes her, "Rest your voice, it sounds awful."

She rolls her eyes, but acquiesces.

* * *

Parked cautiously, Chloe shouts, "Wait! Stay in the car!" She slams her side shut and rushes to the passenger side and opens the door. "Okay, come out."

Remembering her promise to keep silent, Beca simply sighs and shakes her head at the other girl's behavior. But as she climbs out, Chloe hooks one arm under her knees and the other grips under her back, and she lifts Beca bridal style.

"What the?" Beca attempts to protest, but surprisingly, Chloe holds her quite stably, her embrace solid. "This is not ne-"

"Hush," Chloe says, effectively shutting her up, as Beca's arms flail to encircle her neck, "You weigh next to nothing."

And she carries Beca all the way to the elevator before setting her down as they wait to ascend to the fifth floor.

* * *

Beca attempts to argue with Chloe, but the redhead keeps glaring at her every time she opens her mouth. Being coddled isn't something Beca's ever dealt with well.

But Chloe _insists_ on carrying her to the couch where she deposits her "small package for Ms. Beale" carefully (Beca mutters something about it being so offensive). And she _insists _on covering Beca in fifty blankets and lays Beca's head on her lap. And she _insists _on watching Grey's Anatomy episodes back to back ("You have to watch this when you're sick").

About halfway through the third episode, Beca dozes off to the sound of Dr. Cristina Yang talking about food and the feeling of Chloe's warm fingers dancing across her back.

* * *

The sun is just setting as Beca comes to, her head still nestled in Chloe's lap. She shifts slowly and confirms that Chloe's snoozing, her face very peaceful. Beca's eyes trace over her features, from her eyelashes that are lit with the dwindling sunlight to her mouth, set in a relaxed line.

There's a tightening of her chest as she watches Chloe's steady inhale and exhale.

Beca's not stupid; she's spent lots of her time with both Jesse and Chloe, and she'd be lying if she said that the two of them weren't competing for a top spot in her affections unwittingly. With Jesse, his open reciprocation of her feelings is one of the things she likes best about him. There's no doubts really, no second guessing, his interest in her so obvious from the get go. But Chloe's only hinted, never outright explained herself, and more than anything Beca is skeptical that she likes her beyond a friendship's threshold.

So she watches, she looks, she searches for clues.

But even at her most vulnerable, Chloe's face is inscrutable, a darkness swallowing them up.

* * *

"I made you some more soup," Chloe whispers, nudging her awake gently hours later.

"Thanks," Beca's voice is less than a croak now, her condition having not improved in the slightest. A few spoonfuls in, Beca notices that the other girl is still watching her, a small smile on her face. "What?"

"Oh? Nothing." But she still doesn't turn away, her gaze unwavering.

* * *

Miserably, Beca blows her nose yet again, and discards the tissue into the nearby wastebasket. Honestly, the medication Dr. Spachemin prescribed isn't having much effect.

"You feeling okay?"

"No," she whispers, taking the majority of the strain off her voice.

"Hmm, do you want to watch a movie?"

Beca shakes her head and asks, "Sing?"

"You want me to sing to you?"

She nods.

"Hm, okay. What song?"

She shrugs to indicate she doesn't care.

"Okay, well," Chloe thinks for a moment before singing a song Beca's never heard before.

She closes her eyes and lets Chloe thread her fingers through her hair, the sound of her voice a pure comfort on its own.

* * *

She wakes to rain; the pitter-pattering of soft droplets, the wet streaks clinging to the windows distorting the imagery outside, the low rumble of clouds in the distance, all particularly vivid in her moment of waking. Perhaps even more surprising is when she turns around and sees Chloe in the other chair, simply reading, turning the pages carefully as if afraid of provoking the paper.

"Hey," she whispers, the quiet sound enough to divert Chloe's attention from her story.

She smiles so beautifully, a fluid motion that comes to her so easily, her eyes brimming with emotion. And Beca thinks, yes, maybe Jesse's right: it's in her behavior and gestures.

She can't talk, but maybe she should've been listening all along.

* * *

It's in the words she doesn't say.

Beca types out what she wants to say on her phone and shows Chloe.

_What do you think of Jesse?_

"Jesse?" Chloe's eyebrow raises questioningly. "He's okay, I guess."

_That's all?_

"Why?" She's suspicious now, but Beca answers truthfully.

_I want to know what you think of him._

"Well," Chloe seems reluctant to speak of the person in question, but dutifully answers anyway, "I guess he's cute, like a puppy. He's nice, not like most of the Trebles. Uhm, he's kind of funny, I guess. But there are lots of people who are like that. I don't know Beca, I don't know him very well. You could find a lot of people like him."

But Beca can hear the words that echo after her words.

"_You could find someone better than him."_

* * *

It's in the way she touches her.

Mostly Chloe treats her like she's one of her books, delicate pages lined with dark ink; she skims the surface of Beca's skin, never fully leaving an imprint, for fear of smudging the words. And Beca realizes that her hands shake as she makes contact with her skin, her hair, the outlines of her bones. But when Beca purposefully clasps her hand over Chloe's, it's a reassurance that has the older girl grasping her back tightly.

The contrast tells Beca the alternate emotions that she must be feeling.

* * *

It's in the way her heart beats.

When they fall asleep on the couch, Beca can hear the stable thumping, a steadfast constant that is a bass line to the rushing music of Chloe's breathy exhales. And it makes Beca feel a security she's never understood before, a feeling of home.

But like her touch, it varies.

Beca nearly kisses her, similarly to how she nearly kissed Jesse that first time (but different emotions running through her veins). She swears she can hear Chloe's frantic heartbeat with her frozen expression; a skipping acceleration that threatens to burst into reality.

* * *

And finally, it's in the way she looks at her.

Maybe Beca can't describe exactly how Chloe looks at her (words that come to mind include lingering, burning, attentively, and perhaps foremost, comfortably), but she can see it finally. The devotion, the admiration, the quiet rapture.

And it's so obvious that Beca is aghast she's missed all the signals before.

* * *

Finally, on the fourth day, Beca regains the (fairly) regular use of her vocal chords.

"Thank you," the brunette nods.

Chloe teases her, "I nursed you back to health, I expect something in return."

So Beca kisses her, soft and patient.

She rests her forehead against Beca's.

"That was more than ample compensation." It might be Beca's imagination, but she sounds a bit breathless.

"I like you," Beca acknowledges at last, the words sounding familiar instead of foreign as she'd always envisioned. "A lot."

"Really?"

And all this time that Beca had been waiting for her to say it first, Chloe had been waiting for the exact same from her. But she thinks back to the activities fair, the shower, the auditions and maybe it's been in her words all along too.

"Really," Beca replies.

And maybe all she ever had to do was listen.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! See you tomorrow for Day 2: Hair.**

**A few notes:**

**1. Dr. Spachemin might be an alias of Dr. Spaceman from 30 Rock. Maybe.**

**2. I know the theme is loss, but the loss of voice is still a loss to me!**

**Cheers.**


	2. 2 Hair

**A/N: For Bechloe week, Day 2: Hair.**

**Chapter Rating: T**

* * *

_Black hair_

"What the hell have you done to your hair?" Beca runs her fingers through her girlfriend's hair, the texture clearly off.

"It's for a role," Chloe shrugs. "You don't like it?"

Ignoring the question, Beca narrows her eyes, "Which role?"

"Waitress number two," she replies casually.

"And all waitresses obviously have jet black hair," her voice drips with sarcasm.

Setting her stuff aside, Chloe plops down on the sofa next to Beca. "It's a gothic pub and wigs are itchy. Why aren't you happy for me?"

She sighs, "I know I'm being a jerk, it's just, I really loved your hair."

"I know," Chloe nudges her shoulder. "It's temporary though. I'll bleach it and dye it back to red after filming if you hate it that much."

Beca lifts her hand and smooths across Chloe's cheek, "You're still gorgeous, you know? And I mean, waitress number two isn't a huge deal or anything, but I'm still insanely proud of my actress girlfriend."

With a smirk, Chloe asks, "So you're okay with this color?"

"I mean, if it's temporary."

Chloe presses a quick kiss to her jaw before bouncing up and away, much to Beca's disappointment. "I've got to prepare!"

"Do you even have lines?"

"No," Chloe calls back, but still retreats into the bathroom.

* * *

_Purple highlights_

"I'm home!"

Beca chews the inside of her cheek as she fiddles with the knob on her mixing program, aligning the bass lines perfectly. "I'm in the studio."

Los Angeles isn't everything she's ever expected, but something about the bright lights, the pandemonium, the high rises, Chloe's nearby presence, makes her feel settled in, like this could be her home. They're just two hopeful artists, throwing themselves out there trying to get lucky, and some days it's absolutely depressing, but Chloe manages to keep a bright outlook somehow.

"I got another part!"

Saving her progress, Beca spins around to face the doorway, but is so shocked by the sight that she forgets to stop, and the chair swivels an entire 360 degrees before she turns it back once more.

"And you fucking sprinkled purple in your hair in celebration?"

"Well, it's for the character," Chloe holds her hands up defensively. "They said they liked the black hair when I offered to dye it back to red."

Beca laments, "Purple highlights though. What even is your role?"

"Medusa's minion number three." Upon seeing her confusion, Chloe clarifies, "For a Halloween movie."

"Well," she relents, "Congratulations."

As she manages a wary smile, Chloe walks over and drops onto her lap, curling her arms around Beca's neck and head, grinning wildly. "Thanks babe. How's your mixing going?"

"Not well. I did contact a local music production company, so I might be heading there tomorrow."

Chloe kisses her forehead firmly, "Things will work out, Beca, I'm sure of it."

"Makes one of us," she chuckles, but strains up to press her lips against Chloe's anyway.

_Brunette hair_

Abruptly, a high shrieking noise wakes Beca from her nap and she nearly tumbles off the couch in her hurry to react to the sound. Assuming the worst (burglar, stray cat, hobo), Beca reaches out for the baseball bat against the wall, but she's tackled to the ground by a familiar weight.

"Chloe?"

"I think I just got my big break!

Yep, it's definitely Chloe.

"Yay," Beca mutters, "But I can't breathe."

Ignoring her, Chloe continues, "I have lines and everything Beca. I get to meet Angelina Jolie, oh my God!"

"What? Really?"

"I've been cast as her sister! I mean, we don't even look alike, but yeah! I also die after like two minutes, but still."

Caught up in her infectious excitement, Beca attempts to perform a feat of considerable strength, and lifts Chloe up as she moves into a sitting position. "This is amazing," she gushes, as Chloe laughs loudly.

"They said I'd have to dye my hair though," Chloe admits after a few moments.

Beca glares, "It better be to red."

"Well," she drags out the word, "Angelina Jolie is a brunette, you know."

"Ugh," Beca groans, sprawling backwards onto the floor again.

* * *

_Bob haircut_

Pacing back and forth from the bedroom to the kitchen, Beca excitedly waits for her girlfriend to arrive home. About five minutes later, the sound of sliding locks indicates that she has indeed gotten off work (she works full time as opposed to Beca's part time job).

"I got asked to guest DJ at Club Jangle," the words fly out of her mouth before Chloe even manages to get through the doorway. But then she catches sight of Chloe's new haircut, "You cut your hair?"

"Wow! When are you DJing?" She shuts the door behind her, backing it closed.

Frowning, Beca answers, "Friday, but why'd you cut your hair? Another role?"

"My agent said a clean cut look like this would be a better image for me," Chloe bites her lip, expecting an explosive reaction.

"Well, it's better than the purple highlights," Beca concedes, "And I don't want to be one of those controlling girlfriends. If this is what it takes to get your dream, I don't care."

"Thank you," Chloe smiles, "That means a lot to me."

"What the hell, right? We're living our dreams."

Surprised, she asks Beca, "Since when did you become an optimist?"

"Eh, you bring it out in me," Beca sticks her tongue out playfully.

* * *

_Blonde hair_

Working a regular DJ shift is tiring, Beca quickly finds out. It messes with her entire schedule and she has to rearrange her day around it. She works six p.m. to one a.m. most days, and even later on the weekends, pushing back her sleep cycle. As a result she wakes later, and eats at varying times from Chloe, causing a bit of conflict with their schedules.

In compromise, Chloe goes down to the club some weekends to watch Beca perform and in return, Beca either visits the set that Chloe works at or they go out to watch a movie together on her one weekday off.

On one such weekend that Chloe goes clubbing with friends, she arrives with long (it's grown out again) blonde hair, and Beca nearly drops her headphones. During her break, she hops off the stage and tries to push past the crowd to her girlfriend. Several people high five her or try and chat along the way, all side effects of being a DJ at the club.

She finally reaches Chloe who is dancing to a song, arms held high above her head.

"Blonde?" Beca shouts over the noisy music and cheering.

Chloe turns around, beaming, and it makes her melt a tiny little bit. She leans closer to Beca and yells, "Kathy told me I have a callback for that new movie."

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"So you're blonde?"

Amused, Chloe smirks, "I thought you didn't care!"

"It's kind of hot," Beca admits quietly, so that Chloe can barely hear it.

"Yeah?" She's smug now, as if she's done something great by finding a hair color other than red that Beca likes (and maybe she should be, because Beca's notoriously hard to please).

"I asked Ricardo to fill in for me for the next hour," Beca speaks directly into her ear. "Since we're celebrating, I thought I'd give you a present."

Raising an eyebrow, Chloe decides maybe going blonde has been the best career decision she's ever made so far.

* * *

_Silver tips_

It's a trend by now; Chloe's hair change equals new role. But one day Chloe comes home, hair unchanged (still blonde and straight) and tells Beca, "I got offered a huge role."

Beca thinks it's a no brainer, "Go for it then."

"Well, it's kind of a controversial part," she quirks her mouth, a clear signal to Beca that she's really nervous for her reaction.

"Like what?"

"They want me to play a prostitute."

Beca gapes. But she recovers as smoothly as she can, "And?"

Disbelief is etched plainly on her face and Chloe fumbles for a reply, "You're okay with that?"

"If you're comfortable playing a prostitute, I wouldn't ever want to hold you back from this," Beca smiles encouragingly. "You said it's a huge part, right?" She nods. "Well, what are you waiting for? Accept before this opportunity gets away from you!"

Chloe looks at her, eyes watering, "You're amazing."

"I know."

"I also have to get sparkles and silver tips for my hair," she mentions.

"Interestingly, I'm more bothered by that," Beca teases.

* * *

_Pixie cut_

The premiere of Chloe's new movie falls on one of Beca's work days, but after a special request, her manager approves her request for a night off to attend. He wishes them good luck with a wink. Chloe is fitted for a short blue dress, complete with a matching purse, earrings, and stunning heels; Beca protests, but finally gives in to an outfit chosen for her (a plain black dress).

As they step onto the red carpet of the premiere (Beca rolls her eyes, how cliché), they're blinded right away by the flash of cameras. A natural at this, Chloe leads the more antisocial Beca away from the initial crowd and towards an interviewer (at least, Beca assumes so, as she's holding a microphone).

"Hey!"

Oh, it must be one of Chloe's friends.

"It's nice to see you, Chloe," the woman smiles, her mouth stretching wide. "And this is?"

"My girlfriend, Beca," she says it so easily, so confidently, in a way that Beca's still not able to pull off this many years into their relationship.

"Are you proud of your woman, Beca?" The interviewer asks, holding the microphone towards her, the cameraman directing the camera towards her.

Awkwardly, Beca nods, "More than anything."

"I love your new haircut," she gushes to Chloe, reaching out and brushing her short blonde locks. "It's gorgeous!"

Chloe smirks. Rolling her eyes, Beca exasperatedly reassures her, "I said it was cute, too."

Ignoring the photographers, Chloe leans over and kisses her cheek. "I know, babe."

Later, much later, when they've arrived home, Chloe tiredly collapses onto the bed. Beca carefully slips out of her heels and reaches into her purse.

"Chloe." She kneels by the bed nonchalantly, as if it's a normal thing to do.

Her girlfriend groans, but looks sideways at her. As Beca sets the small black box (because traditions are okay sometimes) on the bed between the two of them, the motion catches Chloe's attention.

"Go on."

Chloe touches the felt box questioningly, "Is this…?"

She flips it open, a simple platinum diamond ring glinting even in the darkness stares back at her. Her previous weariness slides away as she sits up, a quick jolt.

"Marry me?"

And it's straight out of a movie, but Chloe covers her mouth with one hand, so taken aback. It quickly slips away as she laughs, "Oh my God. Yes. I mean, I guess so."

"Romantic, Beale," Beca shakes her head.

"A thousand times yes," Chloe amends, brushing her lips against Beca's, a fleeting moment of contact. "You are the perfect woman for me, you're beautiful and sexy and smart and talented and-"

"Okay," she laughs, "I get it."

* * *

_Pink highlights_

"I'm actually getting a lot of offers for movies now," Chloe grunts, as she lifts a box. "But I think I might do TV."

"Bleh, TV," Beca jokingly scoffs. They've outgrown their apartment, the small space too confining for their stuff and they figured a newly engaged couple deserved a bigger place. It's fairly cathartic, Beca finds, to pack up all their stuff.

"So you never told me," Chloe begins as she sits down on top of one of the boxes, "Why you care so much about my hair."

Really thinking it over, Beca decides, "Well, I fell in love with you when you had that long red hair. I fell in love with your eyes, your hair, your smile. I guess it's just one of my weird quirks."

"No," Chloe responds, "I understand."

"By the way, I met a music producer interested in some of my mixes," she mentions offhandedly, "He said he might be able to offer me a job."

"That's great," Chloe enthuses, "It's like your dream come true."

"Well, it's just a maybe," Beca shrugs, as if it's nothing.

"Still."

"Still," she agrees, finally letting a grin make its way to her expression.

* * *

_Red hair_

They agree on a small private wedding, inviting only family and close friends, a total of maybe fifty people. But as Beca waits by the altar for Chloe to walk down the aisle (because Beca knows she'd trip in a wedding dress), the small crowd actually seems quite intimidating. Her leg shakes with the nerves.

What if Chloe changes her mind? What if Chloe realizes she's a loser? What if Chloe met a famous gorgeous model and left with him or her? What if this is a mis-

The doors swing open and Beca's met with the sight of white, an angel shrouded in clouds. Her breath catches in her throat as Chloe walks down the aisle, slowly, but still elegantly. Caught off guard, Beca realizes that under the veil is a shock of red color.

As Chloe reaches the front with Beca and the musty old priest (Chloe's family is quite old fashioned like that), the brunette whispers, "Your hair…"

Chloe beams, her red hair, cascading in waves, more visible now.

They say their vows and their I do's, Beca's voice wobbling on every syllable, her heart beating furiously.

"You may now kiss," the old fogey says.

Fucking finally.

Beca's hand threads through Chloe's red locks and she smiles so wide, her cheeks might split. And she kisses her, long and sweet.

* * *

_Epilogue_

"I got cast as Mara Jade Skywalker!"

Beca's first reaction is to ask, "Isn't she a redhead?"

"Yeah," Chloe trails off, "I think."

"Thank you Star Wars!" Beca whoops.

Chloe just shakes her head.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a review if it so suits you, see you tomorrow for Day 3: Courage.**

**Cheers.**


	3. 3 Courage

**A/N: For Bechloe week, Day 3: Courage.**

**Chapter Rating: K+**

* * *

"Why won't you go out with me tonight?"

Beca sighs, "Because you never let me pay, not even once."

A nearby gym trainer secures their harnesses tightly, hooking the two opposing straps. "Alright, you can scale the wall now."

"Well I'm the one with a paying job," Chloe answers defensively, hand reaching for the first jutting rock from the wall.

"You're also the one who has to pay rent and a utilities bill," Beca reminds her, mirroring her movements. "I just live off the dorms."

"Okay," the redhead muses, "Complete the Leap of Faith challenge and I'll let you pay for dinner."

"Leap of Faith?"

The gym trainer (Michael, according to his nametag) gestures towards the opposite wall, taller and more formidable looking than the one they're currently climbing and one without any colored hand or foot holds. Near the top the wall cuts off towards a ledge a few feet away from the main body of the climb.

"I see why it's called a leap of faith," Beca snarks, "More like leap of death though."

"But if you're not up to it, I guess you'll just have to let me pay," shrugs Chloe casually.

"I will do the Leap of Faith if it's the last thing I do."

Out of earshot, Michael mutters, "It might be."

* * *

_Attempt #1_

Securing her own harness, Beca runs her hands over the rocky wall, feeling the crags and arches carefully. She takes a few deep breaths before testing her foot against a portion of the rock and levels her body against the side. About six feet up her foot falters as she ascends and slipping, Beca signals for Michael to lower her down to the ground.

Chloe smiles smugly.

"Just you wait, Beale." Dusting her hands, Beca glowers, "Just you wait."

* * *

_Attempt #2_

Feigning disinterest, Chloe pulls out her phone and calls Aubrey, filling her in on the situation.

"Just like you said, she fell for the impossible task ruse."

Aubrey's voice, slightly altered by static, comes over clearly, "_She can't resist a challenge._"

Meanwhile Beca starts from a different place, a few feet sideways from her first try, scaling the distance more carefully this time. She makes it about halfway, her palms and fingers aching from the effort, her calves also beginning to sting. Realizing the rest of the way up is mostly smooth, without any places for her to grab onto, she looks to her left, searching for a path up.

Finding none, she signals for Michael to lower her again.

"Thanks for the help, Mike," she says.

He glares at her, "It's Michael."

"Michael," she corrects herself, unhooking herself awkwardly.

Avoiding Chloe's triumphant grin, Beca concedes, "Alright, you can pay for dinner tonight, but I'll finish the stupid challenge, I swear."

"Let's go to Bernie's!"

"I didn't say you get to choose."

* * *

_Attempt #3_

It's silly, Beca acknowledges, this petty disagreement they're having shouldn't be driving her to spend so much time and effort on climbing a stupid wall. And yet, here she is. Damn girlfriend, knowing her penchant against losing.

It's the same gym guy from yesterday, Michael, and he obviously remembers her, judging by his glare. Luckily Chloe's not around or Beca would have to pretend to be civil.

"Come back to fail more?"

Jeez, talk about open hostility. "Yep, and possibly to succeed once," Beca answers, already attaching the harness.

"Only four or five people have," his mouth is turned down in a perpetual frown.

"Soon to be six," Beca insists, unsure of where this burst of confidence is coming from.

Needless to say, she's suitably embarrassed when she slips about five feet up the wall.

* * *

_Attempt #4_

Taking a step back, Beca reevaluates what she's learned from her previous endeavors. The middle path takes a huge toll on her upper body strength and winds dangerously to the left and right. The most right path up stops about halfway and requires her to hop over to the left, a move she's not sure she can do without injuring something (or someone). So her best bet is the far left option, not too bumpy or smooth, a straightforward climb.

"I don't have all day, you know?"

Shooting a dirty look at Michael, Beca huffs, "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it."

She discovers that while the far left is straightforward, some of the best crags have a great distance in between them. Nearly at the top, her muscles protest each small movement she makes, so she decides to call it a day.

Michael's unchanging expression seems a bit haughty as he lowers her once more.

"I will do it," Beca pants.

* * *

When she wakes the next morning, her whole body groans in protest as she tries to lift herself up. Unbelievably, she is simply just that out of shape.

Bouncing on the bed, Chloe teases, "If you just let me pay all the meals from now on, you wouldn't be feeling so shitty right now."

"Don't remind me," Beca moans.

"Stubborn woman," she admires.

"I can't help it."

Chloe smiles, "I love that about you though."

"Yeah?" She brightens a tiny bit.

"Totes," Chloe kisses her lightly, lips gentle.

* * *

_Attempt #5_

Her arms and legs still a bit achy, Beca decides to try again two days later. To her surprise, Michael is noticeably absent, and the gym trainer that spots her is Luke.

"I didn't know you worked here too," Beca gapes. Really though, with his abs she should've known he worked out a lot.

"On my off days, I get a discount on membership in return," Luke smirks. "Cheap bastard and all."

"Well, I'm here to climb the Leap of Faith wall," she tries to appear more self-assured than she has ever been.

Surprisingly, Luke doesn't laugh or even look at her disbelievingly. "Oh, I climbed that once. Took me a lot of tries."

Knowing that even someone so in shape had trouble with the climb makes her feel slightly better.

"You've got to be patient on your way up or your arms will tire too easily," he advises her. "When you get to the top, you have to jump, push off with your legs-"

"Hang on," Beca interrupts, "I've never even gotten to the top yet."

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

With some coaching and tips (yelled back and forth, up and down), Beca manages to reach the top, her knees bruised and forearms sore. She tries not to look down, the height makes her a fair bit dizzy.

"Now what?" She calls.

"Jump!"

"What?"

"JUMP!"

"Are you insane?"

"It's the only way to reach the ledge, you have to jump," Luke shouts.

Wiping the sweat away from her brow with her sleeve, Beca looks out of the corner of her eye to the nearby ledge.

"Okay, Mitchell," she prep talks herself. "Your one chance to prove Chloe wrong."

Screwing her eyes shut, she leaps.

Fortunately, Luke's well prepared and tightens his grip on the rope as she misses the ledge, his biceps straining with the effort to let her down gently.

"Why'd you close your eyes?"

"I was scared?"

He shakes his head, disappointed, "You'll never make the jump if you're scared."

* * *

_Attempt #6_

She's so tired this time around, she doesn't even make it to the top, although it's remarkably easier with Luke's help.

As she removes the straps and buckles, he tells her, "You did quite well today."

"Not good enough," she takes a long chug of her water bottle. "How the hell do you make the jump from the wall to the ledge?"

"You want to know the secret?"

Intrigued, she nods.

Luke cocks one hand on his hip, "You have to do it without the harness, without any safety ropes or straps."

"I asked for the secret of how to do the challenge, not how to kill myself."

"Why else do you think it's called the Leap of Faith?"

Looking up the length of the wall, Beca decides, "I'll find another way."

* * *

"Where were you all afternoon?" Chloe asks as she cooks dinner, some sort of casserole.

"Nowhere," Beca replies tiredly.

Snorting, her girlfriend scoffs, "You have flour under your fingernails."

"Fine," the brunette hisses, "I was trying the Leap of Faith and I got damn close."

"Sure," Chloe pokes her in the side playfully.

"You'll see," Beca whispers before slowly dozing away.

* * *

_Attempt #7_

She jumps.

Her fingertips brush the side of the ledge.

Luke lowers her.

* * *

_Attempt #8_

She pushes off hard with her knees knowing it'll leave a mark.

Her hand slaps against the top of the ledge.

Luke lowers her.

"I'm too short," Beca maintains. "My arms and legs are not long enough."

He claps his hand against the side of her head, "Hey, look at me."

She does, his eyes unwavering as he taps her temple twice, "It's all up here. You're physically capable. It's your mental restrictions that are preventing you from making it."

* * *

_Attempt #9_

Okay, she's poised to take the jump. Inhale. Exhale.

One more deep breath.

She launches herself at the ledge, her arms hugging around the edge for a precarious moment before losing her hold.

Luke lowers her.

"I'll get it tomorrow," Beca tells him.

He smiles and nods.

"See you then."

* * *

_Attempt #10_

Beca requests that Chloe watch her for the tenth try.

"Tenth time's the charm."

Of course, Chloe can't miss this.

But when Beca begins to climb the wall, Chloe calls out to Luke, "She forgot her harness."

"Oh, she didn't forget," Luke replies, craning his neck to watch her ascent.

"What?"

He throws a cautious look at her, "She's doing it without any safety stuff."

"What?" Alarmed, Chloe uncrosses her arms, "Are you crazy? Isn't that illegal?"

"She signed the injury waver yesterday," Luke points to the desk.

"Beca! Come down!" Clearly he's not going to help, so Chloe runs up to the base of the climbing wall. "You can pay for all the meals, just come down!"

But it's far past just that to Beca. This is about bypassing her mental barriers.

"Oh my God," Chloe freaks, turning right and left, panicking. "Luke! You asshole!" She slaps his chest as he tries to stop her flailing, confused.

Unaware of the pandemonium below, Beca reaches the top, the fastest she's ever achieved.

She closes her eyes, her heart pounding without the familiar weight of safety equipment around her waist.

Thump. Thump.

It's all mental.

Opening her eyes, Beca zeroes in on the opposing ledge, her goal.

She takes the leap.

Mid-jump, her heart jolts, but she pushes away the concern that maybe she's really physically incapable of this. Mental. Just in her head.

Her forearms land heavily on the top of the ledge and she tightens her biceps and latches onto the edge.

Chloe screams.

Beca's legs dangle before she angles her knee up to aid in lifting herself to the top. The thrill of triumph rushes all around her ears and ultimately sends just enough adrenaline for her to fully collapse on the surface of the platform. She laughs, half in disbelief, half in relief.

Luke cheers, Chloe's grip on his arm finally falling away.

Peering down, Beca asks Luke, "How do I get down?"

Furious at Beca's apparent disregard for her own safety, Chloe yells, "You can get yourself down! I'm leaving!"

"I still get to pay for dinner though, right?"

Pivoting, Chloe's expression still livid, she scoffs, "Oh, good luck convincing me to have dinner with you after that."

"Luke?"

"Don't worry, I got you."

* * *

"She still refusing to talk to you?"

Beca sighs, "Ignored all forty-four texts, sixteen calls, and three voicemails."

Jesse laughs good-naturedly, "You're going to have to win her back with some grand gesture."

"Right, because I'm the master of grand gestures," she replies sarcastically.

"Well, sing her a song or something, in front of a huge crowd."

She's skeptical though, "What would that even prove?"

"You're always saying how Chloe wants you guys to go public, right?"

"Oh!"

* * *

Still a bit upset, Chloe walks back to her apartment from her last class of the day, taking the regular route through the center quadrant. It's afternoon so there's lots of students sitting in the grass, talking and studying, some even playing Frisbee. She wistfully thinks of when she and Beca used to hang here, Beca mixing and Chloe studying. If only she hadn't pulled that stupid stunt.

To be fair, Chloe feels that she's a bit to blame as well; if only she hadn't been so stubborn as well and refused to let Beca pay for anything. Maybe her girlfriend felt marginalized that way?

Suddenly, over the school PA system she hears a few flat music notes followed by a familiar bass line.

"Shorty get down, good Lord, baby got 'em open all over town," Beca turns the corner around the science building, a microphone hooked to a nearby speaker. "Strictly biz she don't play around cover much ground, got game by the pound!"

"Getting paid is her forte," Beca sings, approaching Chloe who looks on with a mixture of surprise and elation. "Each and every day true player way."

Finally, Chloe cracks a smile, unable to help it.

"I can't get her outta my mind," Beca points straight at Chloe. "I think about the girl all the time."

Chloe wraps her in a loose hug, resting her head on her shoulder.

"I like the way you work it," the brunette continues, "No diggity."

"We out!" Nearby listeners who are familiar with the song yell it with her.

"I thought you didn't want us to be a public thing," Chloe whispers, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Well after jumping several feet through the air, high above the floor," Beca trails off, "This was the least I could do. After all, whatever it was, it was a mental barrier."

"I have no idea what you're on about," Chloe declares. "But I forgive you."

"I still get to pay for dinner right?"

With a chuckle, she agrees, "Yes, that you do."

"Then it's all worth it," Beca jokes. Then more seriously, "You're worth it."

She kisses Chloe for the whole world to witness.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, leave a review if it so suits you. See you tomorrow for Day 4: Family.**

**A few notes:**

**1. Disclaimer, I've never gone rock climbing before 'cause I lack courage + I get dizzy when up high.**

**2. I swore this was gonna be short, but ended up this long anyway.**

**Cheers.**


	4. 4 Family

**A/N: For Bechloe week, Day 4: Family.**

**Chapter Rating: T**

* * *

"See I ain't try to hurt you, baby, no, no, no, I just wanna work you, baby. Yeah, yeah," Chloe sings, dancing as best as she can while still driving (relatively) safely.

Groaning, Beca sinks deeper into the passenger seat, "Please, no more Bruno."

"It's a long drive, I needs my jams," the redhead pleads, pouting adorably in a way she knows her girlfriend can't refuse.

Chloe's a generally compassionate person (unless it involves TV shows or music), so Beca appeals to her softer side. "It's Christmas br-"

"Due to copyright reasons, we're gonna have to call it Winter break, honey!"

"What? Who copyrighted- no, that doesn't matter. Why do you think this is the appropriate time to break out your 70s announcer voice?"

With a mischievous peck on her cheek, Chloe's voice drops low, "Oh, I'm sorry, is that reserved for the bedroom only?"

"Seriously?" Beca glares, and the redhead kisses her cheek again (misaiming and landing on her jaw). "When have you ever used that voice during se-"

"Nope," Chloe shouts over her. "Can't use that word. We're in the presence of minors."

Looking around, Beca shakes her head, "No. No, we're not. It is just us. On the road. To hell."

Chloe's hand closes over hers reassuringly and says (more sincerely than before), "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. It's the holidays, Beca! We should be able to enjoy this."

"I hate these kinds of things, you know I do, I hate this, really."

Nodding, she takes the next exit, "I know, honey, but I'll be here with you this time and-"

"God, but what if Sheila says something? I haven't told them about…us." Beca looks away guiltily.

"You are allowed to come out on your own time," the redhead nods supportively, the subject already discussed many times before. "I know it's stressful, but I'm looking forward to meeting your dad and then your mom and- and I'm excited for when you meet my family."

With a wince, Beca asks, "They won't attack me or anything, right?"

Chloe chuckles, fiddling with the GPS, "Come on, the worst they'll do is attack you with hugs."

"Pity I can't say the same for my step-fiends."

"Beca!" The exclamation is emphasized with a slap to her knee.

"What? It was clever, wasn't it?"

Her girlfriend merely shakes her head.

* * *

"Beca!" Dr. Mitchell wraps his daughter in a quick tight hug that Beca grimaces through. "Glad traffic wasn't too bad." He shakes Chloe's hand firmly, "And always a pleasure to see you, Ms. Beale."

"Chloe," she insists with a flashing smile.

"Only if you call me Warren," he booms in response, clapping her shoulder. "After all, we're practically family."

Beca freezes, "What?"

"Warren, dear, you're letting a draft in. Oh!"

Suppressing an eye roll, Beca turns to regard her step-mother.

"Sheila."

"Rebeca." Pure disdain.

Nudging Beca out of her way, Chloe introduces herself, "Chloe!"

Temporarily flabbergasted, Sheila allows Chloe to give her a hug before detaching herself awkwardly. "Uh, welcome."

"I'm Beca's girlfriend," she shrugs nonchalantly.

Sheila's eyes bug out comically, Warren merely raises an eyebrow, and Beca's jaw drops. A beat.

"Don't worry though," Chloe confides, "There's a whole group of us, so she's never lonely. We go shopping on Tuesdays and party on Fridays." She winks. "If you know what I mean."

"Oh, well," Sheila forces a semblance of a grin, "I'll go check on the strap-on cake. Strawberry! Strawberry cake. Not…" She struggles, "It's strawberry."

"Can I take your coats?" Beca's dad invites them in, "Sit, sit!"

He disappears into the hallway to hang up their winter jackets.

"Seriously, Chloe?"

"What?" She has that faux innocent expression adorning her face.

"Now they think I'm either part of some lesbian mafia orgy or that I actually have friends!"

"Ooo," Chloe exclaims exaggeratedly. "What could be worse than that?"

"Thank you for your hospitality," Chloe smiles down the long dinner table at Sheila, raising her wine glass in toast.

"These are our sons," Sheila introduces as two gangly boys take their seats, one next to Warren and the other next to Beca. "Jack and James." The older and taller one, Jack, smooths back his gelled back dirty blonde hair and squares his shoulders, looking at the new additions to the table with sharp green eyes. His younger brother looks startlingly like his mother, wavy brown hair and grey eyes along with a thin frame.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Chloe" the redhead beams, extending a hand across the table. "I'd hug, but we're already sitting down."

"Dear God, yes," James says, his mouth ajar, obviously smitten.

Reflexively, Beca elbows him in the ribcage, earning a glare from her father and step-mother.

"Enchanté,"Jack kisses her hand, bending his head as low as he can without forcing his collar into the bowl of soup. For God's sake. Beca clenches her jaw tightly at the display, to which Chloe dismisses with a wave of her hand and shake of her head in the brunette's direction.

"Real charming," she snarls.

"Beca," her father shoots her a warning look. Turning to the rest of the table, he smiles, "I'm so blessed today, to be able to sit here at the table with my whole family, you too, Chloe."

"Wait, what?" Sheila looks at Chloe, then Beca, then Warren, then back to Chloe and Beca. "Family? Are you two…?"

Jack laughs, before realizing, "Wait, what?"

"Well, I mean, any friend of Beca's is a friend of ours," Warren explains logically. "And friends and family are just as close, isn't that right, Sheila?"

"Oh for God's sake, Warren."

Uncomfortably, James shifts in his seat, "Mom, Dad, not now."

"What the?" Beca turns in her seat to her brother, "What's going on?"

"It was just one stupid party!"

"Stupid? _Stupid_?"

Over the pandemonium, Jack apologizes to Chloe, "Sorry, this does not in any way reflect on me."

"I'm sure," she replies, amusedly.

Sheila stands and lets out a furious growl, "This is so typical of you. Let it go!"

Matching her pose, her husband throws down the napkin and yells back, "I don't know, I just thought that you'd want to support me maybe?"

"You win one of those awards every year!"

He shakes his head, face red, "So Katelyn's _fifth _bachelorette party was more important?"

Unable to take it anymore, Beca grabs Jack's wrist as he's about to touch Chloe's hand. "Don't even, loser."

"You can't tell me what to do," he protests, yanking his hand away.

"Uh yeah, I can. I'm older."

James throws a sharp look towards them, "Stop fighting you guys, this is supposed to be _Christmas_ dinner."

"We don't even celebrate Christmas," Jack and Beca shout back at him in sync.

For her part, Chloe simply serves herself some mashed potatoes as the family descends into absolute chaos. Humming, she sets the bowl down and looks around for the gravy.

"You know I support your profession and your-"

"I don't get why you're so uptight about this, Beca, I'm being nice to-"

"I gave up a boss fight for this dinner, the least-"

"But you went to a party instead of my awards ceremony because you're-"

"Because I'm dating Chloe!"

A deathly silence falls over the family.

"What?"

"Maybe this isn't the time," Warren deflates belatedly.

"I can never watch lesbian porn again."

A low buzzing noise fills the air before Chloe shuffles through her purse and scavenges her phone out. "Oh no! Beth is sick!" Acting a bit dodgy, Chloe tugs her earlobe and taps her mouth once. Oh. The signal.

"Well, it's been nice," Beca smirks, "But our dog is sick, we need to take her to the vet."

"Oh," Warren looks fairly relieved. "I'll get your coats."

"Thank you for having us over," Chloe gushes to Sheila and the boys. "Sorry that we weren't able to stay longer!"

"No problem," she flushes, realizing the amazing family argument that had just unfolded in front of the stranger. "Too bad you two couldn't stay longer."

"Yes, too bad," Beca mocks, narrowing her eyes.

Forgetting her previous embarrassment, Sheila hisses, "Don't take that tone of voice with me. I don't care who you date, that's your choice, but if this is some sort of attention-grab or rebellion, let me just say-"

"It's not," the brunette crosses her arms. "I've never done anything like that."

"-that you're too old for that sort of stuff."

Warren returns, his arms full with their winter apparel and ushers them towards the door. Beca's brothers, still in the dining room, continue with their argument over who knows what (Beca suspects it has something to do with Chloe).

"Thank you, Dr. Mitchell," Chloe presses into him for a hug. "Dinner was wonderful."

He chuckles dryly, "Oh, I'm sure it was. Call me Warren. I hope this doesn't…deter you from coming back next year."

"Of course not!"

As the two women turn around to head back to their car, Warren calls out, "And Beca!"

Beca whirls around, bracing herself for whatever is coming next.

"I'm glad you told us the truth."

She smiles.

"Finally."

Her smile fades. "You knew?"

"Yeah…" His mouth scrunches up. "Subtle isn't your style."

"Fucking hell."

* * *

"Well, that was a disaster," Beca muses as they head onto the highway again.

"Our dog is sick," Chloe echoes her statement from earlier. "Our _dog_ is sick? Was that really the best excuse you could come up with? I thought we agreed Beth was going to be my half-sister."

"I panicked," she shrugs. "It was absolute craziness in that house. You were there."

"I thought they were sweet people."

"Uh huh," the brunette looks at her skeptically, "You would think that."

"Hey, don't insult the lady at the wheel," Chloe winks. "It went better than you thought it would, didn't it?"

"Yeah," she admits reluctantly, but glances down at her girlfriend's collar. "Don't wear a V-neck to dinner with the steps ever again."

"Why not?" That innocent tone again.

Narrowing her eyes, Beca merely shakes her head, "I thought Jack was going to drown in that soup trying to peek down your shirt."

"And here I thought you enjoyed the view." No, not the pout. Damn it.

"I do," Beca sputters, gesturing to her general chest area. "Don't get me wrong, lovely view for me. But it should be like, a VIP view, you know?"

"You are terrible at romantic gestures," Chloe laughs, fiddling with the radio dial, letting a song with a low bass fill the car.

"I know." Beca shifts in her seat, her leg slightly numb. "Where are we headed to anyway?"

"Well, we're not due in Illinois for another two days," she quirks her mouth playfully.

"So…"

"Marathon road trip sex."

Tilting her head to the side, the brunette confesses, "That's not exactly where I was headed, but I like the way you think."

"I like the way you work it!"

"No diggity," she succumbs to a faint smile.

* * *

_Two days later…_

"Okay, don't mention Yosemite or the texting accident," Chloe recaps.

"Right. Mom is pretty good at pretending things never happened," nods Beca. "After the divorce, she was convinced that she had never been married in the first place."

"Oh, how long did that last?"

"A good three weeks."

Chloe pats her knee.

"And this time," Beca twists in her seat to fully face the redhead, "Please, no subtle hints at being my girlfriend. I'm not sure Mom, or her heart, can take it."

"Okay, I promise."

* * *

"Ah! Beca!" She finds herself under attack.

"No," the brunette strives to get out from her mother's grip. "No hugs, Mom."

"Heavens knows how you managed to raise such an ungrateful child," a new voice snipes. An elderly woman hobbles to the door, her hair nearly completely grey, "Well?"

In a surprising twist of events, Chloe watches as her girlfriend grins warmly at the older and shorter woman and _voluntarily_ reaches out for an embrace. She openly gapes. Her confusion dissipates as Beca greets her with, "Hello, Granny."

"And who is this?" It's clear that Beca has inherited more than just her height from her grandmother.

"Hi," Chloe reaches forward for a hug, but is rebuffed when the elderly woman merely shakes her hand. "I'm Chloe."

"And why are you here?"

"Granny," Beca chastises, "She's my friend."

"You have friends? I thought you'd done away with those." Assuming it's a joke, Chloe chuckles until Beca's grandmother silences her with a cold glare.

Luckily, Beca's mother steps in, an arm encircling her waist. "Oh Mother, lay off. We love company."

"So did your father," Granny barks. "And look what happened to him."

"He had a _heart attack_, Mom, it wasn't from talking to his friends," she reminds her.

"More friends equals higher chance of heart attack," Beca teases. "Positive correlation."

"I knew that college would teach you something!" Granny pulls Beca into the bungalow. "Now come, I need to change into something more revealing to make your friend uncomfortable."

* * *

"How long have you been in the real estate business, Ms. Westing?" Chloe politely asks Beca's mother as they sit down for dinner.

"Ms. Westing is far too formal for Christmas dinner, please, just call me by my first-"

"Christmas dinner," Granny harrumphs. "Back in my day, that meant something. That meant a certain amount of grandeur, you know."

"Mother, please."

"Please, please, please," she wobbles to her chair and Beca dutifully helps her grandmother sit. "That's all I ever hear from you. But do I ever hear thank you?" She directs her attention to Chloe and tells her, "Not once, I tell you!"

"Because you never behave," Beca grins roguishly, recalling several dinners with both her father and grandmother present. Oh, good memories.

Granny laughs, a dry wheezing sound, "What cheek! I love it."

"In any case," Beca's mother scowls at her mother, "Call me Josephine."

"Sure thing. How long have you been in the business, Josephine?"

"Your friend's an ass kisser," Granny loudly whispers to Beca. "All this small talk. No one wants to know anything about Josie. Just ask your father."

Beca snots into her drink before pulling away, coughing. Chloe's cheeks burn in embarrassment, although the more offensive remarks aren't even directed at her.

Perhaps used to such comments, Josephine merely sets her glass down, "As opposed to Daddy dying to get away from you, Mother?"

There's a tense silence that passes between mother and daughter before Granny cackles, a loud abrasive sound. "Where were those claws when you divorced Warren?"

Even Beca looks suitably impressed at her mother.

"I must be a late bloomer," Josephine shrugs, looking quite proud of herself.

Interesting, Chloe observes.

* * *

Tired from the long drive, Chloe decides to head to bed a little earlier, Beca showing her the way to the guest bedroom. Beca closes the door as quietly as she can manage (it's a creaky old bungalow after all) and heads back to the living room to watch TV with Granny.

"Are you already getting divorced?"

"Huh?"

Granny never looks away from the screen, "Sleeping in separate bedrooms."

Stammering, Beca tries to make heads and tails of how she's guessed with no success.

"I- What? I don't under-"

"Oh honestly, you rascal," Granny sneers, "As if I couldn't tell."

"But…but how?"

"That'll teach her to try and play footsie under the table."

Beca laughs disbelievingly, "She accidentally got you?"

"Never mind that, when were you going to tell us?" Finally tearing her eyes away from Jimmy Fallon, Granny examines Beca critically.

"Eventually?"

But Granny's more perceptive than she's given her credit for, "You weren't planning on telling us ever, were you?" It's more of a statement than a question.

Beca's always been emotionally honest with her grandmother, the only person she really lets in completely no questions asked, so she's sure this feels a tiny bit like betrayal. "I just didn't know how to."

"Mother, Grandmother, I brought my hot girlfriend," Granny mimics, pointing at the nearby lamp. "Good enough for me."

"I'm sorry, Granny," Beca hugs her, holding on securely. "I should've known I could trust you."

"Told her you love her yet?"

"You approve?" She asks in surprise.

With a guffaw, Granny answers, "Can't say she's got much Westing potential in her, but better than that boyfriend you brought home a few years ago. Mick? Dick?"

"Rick," Beca rolls her eyes, God what had she been on when she brought him to meet her family? Rick, while on the nicer side, had been an extreme stoner and stinking of marijuana certainly hadn't been the best first impression.

"Dick suits him better. Well? Have you told her yet?"

"Not in so many words," Beca tries to cleverly avoid the question.

Clever doesn't really apply to her.

"No? What's wrong with you?" Granny slaps her upside the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Next thing you know she'll be running off marrying some successful business man or an actress and you'll end up settling for Dick or someone like Warren, God forbid," Granny rants, waving her glasses in the air for emphasis.

"I really doubt that, Granny."

"How else do you think I ended up with your grandfather? You think he was my first choice? Oh no," she adamantly shakes her head, "There was this handsome sailor, oh, so handsome." She sighs. "But I thought I had all the time in the world and look at me now, stuck here in a bungalow. I could've traveled the world!"

"But then you wouldn't have me," Beca supplies sweetly, smiling.

"True," Granny acknowledges. "I'd have an even better granddaughter."

"Hey!"

* * *

"Thanks for dinner yesterday and letting us stay over," Chloe embraces Josephine warmly. "It was lovely."

Granny looks Chloe up and down seriously, "Well, I guess I don't mind that you played footsie with me yesterday."

Chloe sputters, "But I didn't-" She cuts herself off and mischievously grins, finally catching onto the game. "I guess I couldn't help myself," she turns to Beca. "Your grandma's a looker."

At long last, Granny snickers and launches herself forward for a hug. "Welcome to the family, Chloe!"

Beca's chest tightens and she feels oddly emotional watching her grandmother and girlfriend hug.

* * *

"Granny is a wonderful woman," Chloe reiterates as they climb into the car, preparing for the ride to Minnesota.

"Yeah, I'm really lucky to have her," Beca says. "I don't know how I would've gotten through the divorce without her."

Squeezing her knee, Chloe gives Beca a reassuring smile, "Things work out in the end."

"When we meet your family," Beca starts cautiously, "Can you introduce me as your girlfriend?"

Chloe gapes, "Are you serious?"

"I mean, if you want to."

"Of course I want to!"

Beca leans over and pecks her cheek.

"Thank you."

* * *

As they pull into the driveway of Chloe's parent's house, Beca spots a welcoming committee (comprised of Chloe's parents, who she recognizes from the many family photos Chloe carries, and a younger boy and girl, who must be her siblings) waiting for them at the front of the house, busying themselves with the task of shoveling the driveway clear of snow.

Chloe rolls down the window, letting in a particularly chilly breeze, and waves at her family with a joyous shout, "Hey!"

It's exactly as Beca's expected, a warm greeting back, Chloe's younger siblings running in the snow towards the car, obviously excited to see their older sister home. The polar opposite of her family, genuine and friendly, and she finds herself strangely nervous yet again.

Chloe barely makes it out of the driver's seat before her little sister jumps into her and Chloe lifts her into the air. "Oof, Clara, you're getting heavy."

"Am not!"

Restraining himself from following in Clara's footsteps, Chloe's brother takes a step back, his arms crossed, "We were trying to clear the snow before you got here."

Beca slowly rounds around the passenger's side, standing awkwardly at the tail of the car watching the events unfold. Catching her eye, Chloe beckons her over as Chloe's parents stride towards them as well.

"Chloe dear," her mom envelops her with affection. "And this is?"

"My girlfriend, Beca," she pulls Beca by the waist towards her.

There's not even a flicker of surprise or disgust or anything in their faces as they greet her. Chloe's mom ushers them inside, "It's too cold to talk out here!" Chloe's father laughs, a deep sound emanating from his belly.

Once inside, Clara peers suspiciously at Beca, and although it really shouldn't, she feels intimated by the little girl. "Your name is Beca?"

"Yeah," she hesitantly answers. "And your name is Clara?" The little girl nods. "Chloe's told me a lot about you."

"Like what?"

Oh shit, her memory isn't that great. "Uhm, that you guys visited the Grand Canyon once and your-"

"My hat flew off my head!" Clara grins. "But it's okay, because Chloe bought me a new one."

Relieved that the kid hasn't attacked her yet, Beca smiles along with her. "She's great, yeah."

"What's your job?" Chloe's brother, Caleb, asks.

"Well, I work at a radio station sometimes," Beca says, startled when Chloe shows up out of nowhere laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Cool!"

"Wait till after dinner for the interrogation, guys," Chloe puts on a stern tone. "Now go wash up."

Clara and Caleb scamper off towards the bathroom, racing down the hallway loudly.

"This is okay, right?" Chloe hooks her arm around Beca's neck. "Not too stressful?"

"Are you kidding? This is like the all-American family dinners you see on TV. It's awesome."

* * *

"So what are you studying at Barden, Beca?" Chloe's mother passes her a bowl with corn.

"Media law and case studies in mass media," Beca answers. "Thank you."

"Oh that's lovely," Chloe's father remarks, "Chloe's told us about how you helped the Bellas win Nationals two times in a row."

Beca blushes for some reason, although she's been praised before by strangers, having your girlfriend's parents look at you admiringly is very different. "Oh, it was a team effort."

"She's so cute," Chloe's mom laughs, patting Chloe's hand. "So modest too."

Being well liked is another thing she hasn't learned to deal with.

"Uhm, thanks." Even her ears are red.

The corner of Chloe's mouth quirks up.

* * *

"Did you have a good time?" Chloe suspects Beca is even more enamored with her family than Chloe is.

"Yeah," her voice is soft and she looks out the passenger window, in a sort of daze. "They were super nice."

"They really liked you, especially Clara," Chloe comments, looking at the corner of her eye for Beca's reaction. Unsurprisingly, Beca grins at that; what _had _been surprising was the way Beca had taken to playing with Clara and Caleb right away (Chloe's mom assumed maternal instinct, but Chloe suspects it's something else as well).

"They're great."

"You okay, babe?"

Beca turns to her suddenly, a quick swivel, "I love you."

Chloe thinks she's misheard her for a sudden moment.

But she repeats herself, "I love you."

Turning off the ignition, Chloe turns to her, feeling a great weight lift off her shoulders (one she hadn't known existed). Her heart should be racing, but her relief slows it to a steady thudding against her ribcage.

"Yeah?"

"So much," Beca says, and her eyes are shining, confirming it.

Chloe leans forward, her lips seeking out Beca's, a clear reciprocation, "Why now?"

"I dunno," she whisper, resting her forehead heavily against Chloe's. "I always thought family was this thing forced on you, but I guess I finally see it's so much more too. And one day, maybe, I want a family like this."

"Oh?"

Her cheeks are flaming with color. "With you."

Sparing her further embarrassment, Chloe simply nods, unable to keep a wide grin off her face. She turns the ignition on, starting the car, and the car's radio plays a familiar song.

_You shoot me down, but I won't fall, I am titanium!_

And the words have never felt truer as they sing along.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, and a special thank you to all those who reviewed/favorited/followed. You're all rock stars. Leave a review if it so suits you, see you tomorrow for Day 5: AU.**

**Quick notes:**

**1. I didn't want to spoil Batman for anyone last chapter, but since some of you guessed it, yes, I am a fan ;) A sad unoriginal fan.**

**2. I've been super busy as of late (grinding out seven one-shots in seven days isn't exactly my work pace), so if I don't reply to your reviews, I apologize!**

**Cheers.**


	5. 5 AU

**A/N: For Bechloe week, Day 5: AU.**

**Chapter Rating: T.**

**Light TW: Brief mentions of suicide, implications of character death. (Really glossed over, I promise.)  
**

* * *

"_We were both so dysfunctional. Separately, we were broken cogs in a machine. Together we were a catastrophe." – p. 32_

You tap your ballpoint pen impatiently against your notebook, staring out the window of the café. Your foot jostles your bag as your leg shakes (with impatience you think). With a sudden burst of inspiration that shoots to your fingertips, you scribble down a few words on the blank page, the black ink staining the crisp white paper.

"Grilled chicken salad?"

Startled, you look up, momentarily annoyed that your line of thought has been cut off, but it's the lunch you ordered.

"Yes," you take an examining look at the waitress who has brought your order and note quick things about her; she has straight black hair that shines glossily, light brown eyes, and a questionable taste in footwear. Already in your mind, a story begins to weave itself, possibilities humming. Perhaps there's a hidden tragedy behind her mask of casual indifference. The woman sets the plate down and flashes a polite smile before hurrying away to her other duties.

You refocus on your half-written sentence, a sigh escaping your lips in a puff, and cross it out, a bit defeated.

_On a rainy Tuesday, I finally understood…_

* * *

"_It's a lack of words, or perhaps, too many, that prevents me from explaining her to you in great detail." – p. 13_

Maybe it's a change of scenery that you need; after all, you've been going to the Corner Café for as long as you've lived here. So you decide you'll walk a little further to a quaint diner at the edge of town. As you walk into Benji's Diner and Deli you're assaulted with the wonderful aroma of bacon and fresh bread. Inhaling deeply, it fills your lungs and yes, you might come to like this place.

"Hey! First time at Benji's?"

The waitress is a bit taller than you are, with red hair, blue eyes, and a beaming expression. You imagine she has loving parents, a doting boyfriend maybe, and probably reflects upon her childhood fondly. With her open expression and good looks, you can see her as a popular girl in school (perhaps a minion of the Queen Bee) and maybe even prom queen.

"Yeah."

She is completely too upbeat to be genuine as she prattles about the menu and shows you to a seat by the counter. "We're a pretty lax place so if there's anything specific you want that you don't see on the menu, I'll see if the cooks can make it for you." You nod absentmindedly.

"Uhm, I'll have a BLT cobb salad."

"What kind of dressing?"

"No dressing."

The waitress hums as she writes down your order, "Anything to drink?"

"Water is fine," you reply shortly, your fingers itching to curl around your pen and write in peace.

"Great," the waitress smiles brightly. "My name's Chloe, so if you need anything just shout!"

Finally she leaves and you feel like you can breathe again; happy people always make you feel suffocated. Taking out scraps of paper from your pockets, you flatten them on the counter and bite on the end of the pen, thinking. Beginnings are tricky. The tip of the pen rests on the lines letting the black sink in the shape of a dot.

After a long pause, nothing comes to mind so you simply write down random words as they flow in and out of your head. Just as you've filled an entire page with nonsensical phrases and separated letters the waitress returns with your meal.

"BLT cobb salad," she places the plate in front of you carefully. But she doesn't leave; she hovers for a moment, looking thoughtfully.

"Something wrong?" Honestly, you're tiny bit annoyed.

With a cautious smile, the waitress asks hesitantly, "Are you Rebeca Mitchell?"

"Maybe," you answer apprehensively, not sure if you want to reveal your identity or not.

"My contemporary literature class is studying your book," she secures her apron behind her tightly, assuming you are. "I thought I recognized you from the photo in the back."

How are you supposed to respond to that? Sure, there was a period where you were recognized all around, even had a few photographers chase after you, but not in this town and not for awhile now. You're a recluse writer, one of those that stays under the radar no matter the cost.

"I hope they enjoy it," you mumble instead, taking a large gulp of water.

Surprisingly, the waitress doesn't badger you any further (as you expected) and simply winks, "We will! I'll leave you to your meal."

Taking your time, you chew slowly as you write a few sentences before crossing them out again. Crumpling the page, you toss the ball of paper onto the counter next to your plate. You emit an audible sigh of frustration and finish the last of your salad, waving the waitress down for the check in the process.

"Hope you remembered your umbrella," the waitress comments as she brings back the receipt.

At this, you look outside, just noticing the dripping rain.

"But even if not, it's lovely to walk in rain," she's walked away with the empty plate by the time you turn back around.

"Is it?" You ask yourself quietly. And you do wonder, so you keep your umbrella in your pocket and let the water wash over you. As you walk home, the pouring shower thins out into drizzle, and droplets of water cling to your eyelashes.

Upon arriving at your apartment building, you hurriedly take out a strip of creased paper and scrawl messily on it, using the side of the structure as a writing surface. You look at it for a long moment and watch the raindrops wet the page, the ink bleeding down.

_The sky was cloudy that day, wasn't it?_

* * *

"_I gave you parts of me that I didn't know existed and now I'm missing parts of me I didn't know I could miss." – p. 78_

For the first time since the publication of your first novel, you've written a full three pages that you're somewhat satisfied with. You reread the three pages maybe forty times within the next two days adjusting small things and scouring for mistakes. On the third day you hit an all too familiar dead end for inspiration. It's probably because the rain has stopped, you think.

So you decide to head to Benji's for dinner once again, hoping that the venue is what helped you in the first place. Interestingly, there's more people this time and the waitress, the same woman from last time, escorts you to the counter again.

"Welcome back," she smiles, somehow still in a good mood. "Can I get you anything to drink first?"

"Water's fine," you reply absentmindedly, browsing the menu as the waitress gets your drink. After a few minutes, you order the same thing as last time, "BLT cobb salad please."

"Oh, don't order that," a neighboring scruffy old man interjects. "This place serves the best corned beef in all of Georgia and you're ordering a salad?"

The waitress laughs and slaps his jacket playfully, "She can order anything she wants."

"Waste of an order," he grumbles and turns to you purposefully, "Get the brisket melt, I promise you won't regret it."

Fine. You humor him with a tight lipped smile, "Okay. The brisket melt then."

"Aw honey, don't let him pressure you, if you want that salad, I'll get it for you," the waitress' hand brushes yours on accident. You jolt, startled by the contact, but she hasn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. For some reason, your heart has begun to beat rapidly.

You shake your head, reaffirming (breathlessly you note), "No really, the brisket melt is fine."

"Alright, if you need anything just shout for Chloe," her smile never fades as she takes the menu out of your hands.

"New in town?" The old man next to you asks with a gulp of coffee. "Never seen you here."

"Been here about two years," you divulge to him.

"My name's Jon," he reaches out for a handshake which you hesitantly return, "And you, young lady?"

"Beca."

"You one of those college kids?"

At that you let loose a dry chuckle, "Oh no. I'm not in college."

"Where you working at then?" The old man signals the waitress for another cup of coffee.

"I'm self-employed," as is your usual response.

He looks like he's about to ask for clarification, but luckily the redheaded waitress returns with your food, placing it in front of you. "One brisket melt for the lovely lady."

"Thank you."

The waitress rounds to the other side of the counter and sorts condiments, "Well eat up. Let's see how you like our corned beef."

Hesitantly, you take a bite from your sandwich as the old man and waitress look on. Chewing and swallowing you admit, "This is actually really good."

"Woo!" The waitress holds both arms in the air and does a celebratory twirl. "Jorge! Michael!"

There's a small section of the wall that opens to the kitchen and the two cooks look questioningly out of it at the waitress. "Yeah, babe?"

"You two have the approval from the prettiest woman at the counter!"

You snort, wondering if the waitress really thinks a simple compliment will get her a higher tip. Even so, you toast the cooks sarcastically.

Later, much later, when you arrive home, you reread your three pages and begin to write again.

_I think of all the places we've been together and it's a struggle. But when I think of all the places we never got to go, it's a war._

* * *

"_You told me to put on my war paint. Those were the last words you ever said to me." – p. 1_

You marvel at your progress, a full eight pages in total by the weekend. It's far from perfect, yes, but it's a solid basis for a story. You begin to draw up a more detailed outline but eventually trash every version of it. Instead, you settle for letting the writing take you where it will.

It's about the fifth time you've crossed out an entire paragraph that you slip into your coat and head to Benji's.

_I thought I could move on, but maybe not..._

* * *

"_You used to look at me, confused or loving, I could never tell. Maybe it was neither. Maybe it was with clarity." – p.21_

You think you might have a good idea of where your story is headed to after your meal, you silently mouth the lines of what you want to write. Out of nowhere, the regular waitress (notably out of uniform for the first time) slides into the opposite side of the booth from you with a casual expression on her face, as if it's not completely random.

"In chapter three, you write that Julie looks for a note from Abigail," she skips the pleasantries entirely. "Why?"

Quirking your mouth, you find yourself a tiny bit amused, "Aren't you old enough to do your own homework?"

"It's a discussion question," she offers. "It's not that I want you to do it for me, I already have notes for that, I-"

She's talking to you so coolly, you remember being intimidated as hell when you first met an author, and it's intriguing, to say the least (meeting someone so straightforward). You hold out your hand expectantly, "Well? Give me your notes."

But you're not that frightened little girl anymore (in fact sometimes you feel like you have no fear), and you read quickly through her notes, making little marks and crossing out whole sentences. If she worries for the destruction of her work, the waitress sure doesn't let it show.

You hum. "You've hit most of the obvious points, the emotional and the logical, but you're forgetting to look from the societal point of view."

"What do you mean?" She bites her lip as you return the loose leaf pages, flipping through them.

"Well, Julie expects that Abigail's left her a note. She thinks that surely Abigail has. What would make her expect that?"

"You're saying it's society?"

Leaning forward, you answer, "We hear stories on the news all the time about teenagers that kill themselves. They leave notes, they leave clues, they leave a video, they leave tape recordings behind. It's in stories, it's in the media, and so it becomes what Julie expects."

She looks thoughtful, her lips pursed. You think that's the end of the discussion, she's gotten her reply, she can mull over it for a few hours before heading to class where she'll most likely brag. ("My answer is better because I talked to the author.")

However, just as you're packing your coffee stained paper into your bag, she surprises you. "I disagree. Abigail was Julie's best friend; no matter what society led Julie to believe, she still knew Abigail better than anyone else. Julie knows there's no note simply because she knows Abigail."

"Maybe Julie didn't know Abigail as well as she thought she did." Interesting. She's debating _your_ story, the whole universe is yours, you're a God, everything you write is fact in that dimension. "I don't think Julie ever expected her to kill herself." But she doesn't seem to think so.

"I think she saw it," the waitress traces over the indents you've made in her notes. "Maybe not clearly, but she saw it on some level."

"Then why did she look for a note?"

"Emotional reasons," Chloe points to a particular line of her writing that you have left alone. "She felt lost, she wanted something to anchor her to Abigail's memory. She wanted to feel close to her best friend once again, if only through a few words of farewell. But I think Julie just wanted to know that she meant something to Abigail."

As she talks, a familiar lump grows tight in your throat, threatening to breach your carefully constructed defenses. It's silly, what does she know? She looks at you with clear blue eyes, reminiscent of a clear sky, deep pools of rain. Your hands are shaking, you realize belatedly.

"You might be right."

"Thanks for the help," Chloe smiles, a quiet one this time, closed lips, no teeth. Fangs stowed away, you think. She slides out without another word and you don't attempt to say anything, not with your head swimming as it is.

As she disappears out of your sight, you write on your arm a note for future reference.

_Copper curls, like blood flowing down her neck, a macabre vision._

* * *

"_The first time we met you simply looked at me. Through your eyes you conveyed one thing: 'I will kill everything you've ever cared about.' But you didn't know that I've only ever cared for you. And true to your word, I watched you destroy yourself."_ _– p. 1_

You've read every single letter you've ever received from a fan. Never have you written any of them back. Some of them are particularly touching, attempting to reach your stone cold heart, a caress or a flimsy graze. There are letters thanking you for portraying suicide so honestly in a teen novel (not that you meant for it to be categorized in the young adult section), others thanking you for saving their life (and it should make you feel good, but it doesn't), and even some just saying they enjoyed the story.

None of them argue with you, or tell you that you're wrong. You must know the secrets of hundreds of people from those letters, but not one of them has revealed anything of _your_ nature.

One conversation with a waitress from the middle of nowhere and you think you understand yourself better.

So you ask her to dinner the next day.

She's surprised, mouth slightly agape, but readily accepts, and you realize for a moment there, you felt a sting of fear in your chest, afraid of rejection. Strange, you haven't felt anything like that for a long time.

* * *

"_Looking back we were so young when it all began. Looking back you were so young when you pulled the trigger. I said you were only sixteen, but maybe I should've said I was only fifteen." – p. 131_

Ironically you take her to the Corner Café, perhaps her employer's direct competition, but she waves at the cashier (her classmate it turns out) enthusiastically, seemingly uncaring.

"This the mystery girl you've been talking about?"

Shockingly, Chloe blushes, avoiding your questioning, pointed look.

As if sensing your confusion, her classmates says, "She's been on and on about some girl who eats at the diner a lot."

Fascinating. A small smile plays on your lips. "Yeah?"

Chloe regains her confidence, "And now she's here with me, so obviously I did something right."

"You go girl," her friend winks. "What can I get you two?"

After you've ordered and sat down, Chloe looks at you almost shyly, "I thought you might want your privacy, so I didn't say who you were."

"That's," you pause, searching for the right word, "Very thoughtful of you. Thanks."

"We always read a short biography of the author before reading their books," she elaborates. "Yours was barely two sentences."

"I didn't think I was more important than the story I was telling."

She leans forward, interest gleaming in her eyes, "Well I want to know more."

"Like what?" You're not an interesting person, there's not much to say.

"Why do you write?"

"Why did I write Mourning the Queen of the Insignificants? Or why do I write in general?"

Chloe tilts her head, "Both."

"My writing teacher in high school told me that people like her and me turn out to be one of two kinds of writers: romance or tragedy. She told me that any overlap would consume us," you recount, briefly wondering if this is for a school assignment or not (interview the author). "I wanted to prove her wrong. I wanted to write everything."

She must notice that you don't answer her other question, but she doesn't press it.

She changes the subject, "Have you ever tried the key lime pie here?"

* * *

Maybe it's the three glasses of wine you've had, but you feel comfortable in her apartment, small and tidy. Your lips are looser too.

"I had an Abigail," you say quietly, the first time you've admitted it in a long time. "Her name wasn't Abigail though."

"What was she like?" Chloe sits down on the carpet near your feet.

Your eyes glaze over in remembrance. "She had this really soft blonde hair, light blue eyes, slow smile. She used to laugh, like really softly, and I would just stare."

This is not first date material stuff. This is not second or third or even fourth date material. This is the kind of stuff that you file under never-speak-of-ever material. But Chloe looks at you, open, trusting, curious, trustworthy (dare you think?), hushed.

"What happened?" Her voice isn't pitying, or dripping with overly obnoxious sympathy, it's just small.

That must be why you tell her.

"She wasn't happy."

She nods, and that's the end of that.

"I read your book before," Chloe reveals. "Back when it first came out."

"What did you think?"

Her eyes draw you in. "I thought I would never understand that degree of heartbreak."

"Do you like because of that?"

"I love your story, but I also like the person you are." She smiles, her eyes twinkling, "I thought it was obvious."

You whisper, "But there's someone I can't forget."

"Even so, I don't mind."

Your heart twists at her words.

* * *

"'_The more things you share about yourself to other people, the more they find out about you. And along with that you find out more about yourself. And while other people might not like what they see, you'll hate what you find inside.'" – p. 74_

You go on several more dates with Chloe, charmed by her, realizing she's none of the things you imagined. ("Popular? Ha! I literally had one friend all through high school and I didn't even go to prom.") She's upbeat and patient, something you're not quite used to. She tries to respect your boundaries, backing off of sensitive topics and sharing her own secrets.

She tells you about the time she stole an apple from the grocery market and cried all the way back when returning it because she felt like a criminal. She tells you about her first time having sex and how her then-boyfriend never spoke to her again afterwards. She tells you about the scar on her forehead and the accident that caused it.

You don't understand how you've come to know her better than anyone else in the span of a month.

You don't understand how she's come to know you better than anyone else has, all in the span of a month.

It makes you feel excited, but also scared. You thought after the tragedy from your first girlfriend, that you'd never know fear like that again. But Chloe's presence makes your heart race, your palms sweaty, and you think you could fall in love. Can stone hearts still work?

* * *

When she has exams (mid-terms she calls them), you go almost a whole week without seeing her, and it bothers you. You're not the clingy type; you're the distant one usually, blowing others off to spend time alone. You spend the entire time writing, furious typing and incessant swearing at your inability to create something worthwhile.

Finally when the two of you have a celebratory dinner at the end of the week, you relax, the tension seeping out of your shoulders. You find yourself scrawling short notes in your notebook as she cooks some pasta.

"I got offered a study abroad opportunity," she remarks nonchalantly, still stirring the pot of noodles with her hand.

You freeze.

She turns to you, her expression unreadable.

"If you want," you manage, "You should go."

You barely survived a week without seeing her, how will you survive a semester or two?

Chloe switches the electric stove off and sits at the table across from you. "Yeah?"

But no, you can't lose another person.

"But I want you to stay," you say selfishly.

It has the opposite effect you imagined, her face softens and she looks at you tenderly. "Yeah?" It's quieter this time.

"I think I love you," the words come easily, urged on by the ever lingering panic in your chest. "You make me feel like I haven't been hurt before. You make me feel like you could rip out my heart if you tried."

She stands up and cups your cheek hesitantly. She kisses you firmly.

Words pour out of your mouth, things your fingers have ached to write.

"I don't remember the day we met, if it was sunny or wet, blue or grey. I don't remember when you first told me your name, if you were casual or direct. I don't remember when we first kissed, if our noses bumped or how long it lasted," you mutter against her lips. "But I remember how the first kiss and all the others after made me feel. I remember the exact stain of red your lipstick was on that first day. I remember how I fell for you, tripping head first, completely and half-willingly."

She staunches the flow of your rambling with another kiss, her lips yielding. When she inhales sharply, it feels like she's literally stealing the breath from your lungs.

"I love you too," she laughs, a colorful noise, so bright and full of life. "It was raining the first day, I told you my name casually, telling you to shout if you needed me, and our noses did bump for the first kiss that lasted about seven and a half seconds."

And you think you know how to end your story.

_I kissed her, not thinking of you, but thinking of her. You still haunt me, but quietly, in the corner of my mind, like a ghost through the corridors of an old house, reminding me of what I have to lose. And for that, I thank you._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to all those who reviewed, made me smile ;) Another thank you for reading, see you tomorrow for Day 6: Damage.**

**Two notes:**

**1. Sorry for posting so late, updating everyday is turning out to be quite difficult ;p**

**2. This was originally meant for my other AU one-shot series, Moirai, and as a result it's much more serious than the previous chapters. Apologies if I upset anyone.**

**Cheers.**


	6. 6 Damage

**A/N: For Bechloe week, Day 6: Damage.**

**Chapter Rating: K+**

* * *

"This is an outrage!"

Beca looks around her; views the despair of her people, cradling destroyed belongings, fisting clumps of burned crops in their hands, burying the dead, crying with helplessness. And while her chest bubbles in rage, she holds it together for her people. The villagers carry the body of her father and set it down in a separate rectangular pit. Wild flowers are collected and thrown upon his immobile body, and Beca thinks of how very pale he looks.

Their Thane is no more.

She now rules this devastated group of people and wasteland of a home.

* * *

Looking from the rocky outcrop of Mount Rift, Beca can spy the smoke and ashes from her village still wafting to the sky. The sight provokes her into urging her horse (one of two they had left), Daisy, to go faster towards the city of Snowburn to meet the King. She pulls her fur jacket around her tighter as the chilly wind sweeps across the road. The path winds down from the mountain and Beca feels her stomach grumble in hunger, feeling a tiny bit lightheaded.

Unused to such a far distance, Daisy's pace slows to a stumbling trot, and Beca fears that they will not make it. Dismounting, she looks into Daisy's eyes calmly and sings, her dry throat protesting, and she strokes the horse's nose. Perhaps seeing her own hopelessness reflected back in those weary black eyes, Beca feels pity for her.

"Go home," Beca pushes her towards the direction of her village. "Go."

Daisy doesn't need to be told twice and begins slowly walking back.

Wobbling, Beca heads in the direction of the nearest town, Swaftmore, seeking refuge from the cold air. The guardsman at the door looks at her warily before signaling for her to leave her knife and sword with him. Beca unwraps her hand coverings and reveals her signet ring. His eyes examine it with faint recognition.

"My Lady," he bows politely. "Our Lord was not expecting you."

"It was unannounced, I do apologize," she manages hoarsely, a burning in the back of her throat.

The captain greets her with a smart salute which she returns as best as she can. Over the howling winds, he yells, "I do not think the Lord will be able to entertain guests at the moment."

"Could you direct me to a tavern? I will be on my way as soon as I may continue."

* * *

However, her plans are infringed upon when she's woken up by a loud banging on her door the next morning. Dressing hurriedly, she answers the door, her hair askew and clothes messily gathered around her body.

"The Thane requests your presence," three soldiers look at her sternly, giving her no choice but to follow them.

"My how the mighty have fallen," Thane Allen smirks as she kneels before his feet in a sign of respect. "If I hear correctly, your father has passed on."

"Have you brought me here to gloat?"

"You could've saved yourself this heartbreak," his voices rings through the hall smugly. "But I wasn't good enough for you, was I?"

"My father was the one who refused your marriage proposal, I never even heard of it until later," Beca defends. "But even if I had, I would've refused as well."

"Well, what have you come to my town for? Help?" He scoffs, "It will come at a great price."

"No," she answers. "I have nothing to offer you, so I expect nothing in return. I merely came here to shelter from the storm, I will be on my way now."

At a signal from Thane Allen, the soldiers standing by the doorway bar her exit.

She turns around to look at him venomously, "What is the meaning of this?"

"You cannot come and leave as you please," he narrows his eyes.

In a split second decision, she charges at him and pins him to the ground, the tip of her boot knife digging into his neck. The Thane's guards are not quick enough to move to defend him, perhaps not anticipating her sudden burst of aggression.

"Back away!" She calls warningly.

"Do as she says," Thane Allen cries, alarmed.

Her mind grinding quickly, Beca decides to take advantage of the situation, "Bring me my sword and my belongings." One of the soldiers scrambles to do as she says, tripping as he nears her. "No! Stay back." He obeys, backing three steps. "Toss them towards me."

Yanking the Thane to his feet, Beca drags him towards the exit of the hall, sword and pack hanging from her belt once again. "Bring me a horse."

"Do you really think you'll get away with this?" Thane Allen hisses. "An armed woman from another village attacking the Thane of Swaftmore?"

"You forget that I am the Thane of Letia now," Beca replies shortly, as a black mare is brought to her from the stables. "You held me against my will; that in itself is a high crime."

In one fluid motion, she mounts the horse and kicks back into Thane Allen's chest, knocking him to the ground. As the guards surge forward to help him to his feet, Beca spurs the mare on and out of the town gates, jumping over the heads of several panicked soldiers, a spear nicking her calf.

* * *

The pursuit lasts all through the day and nears the night; Beca dodges expertly between trees and rocks, leading the Swaftmore troops through an intricate maze of forest. As the sun sets, she can sense the labored exhales of her horse and her leg wound is beginning to throb. Spotting a cave up ahead, she ducks into it, leading the mare further into the darkness.

She curls up in the corner of the cave, shivering as a freezing draft is let in. Eating some dried berries from her pack, Beca uses the cloth wrapped around her arms to bind her injury and prepares for a long sleepless night.

When the moon is high in the sky, the sounds of the following soldiers have long since passed. Noting that her newly acquired mare is trembling in the night air as well, Beca attempts to start a fire, gathering twigs from just outside her hiding spot.

Eventually the wood catches and ignites, a flickering flame that brings barely enough warmth to the tips of her fingers. It blazes as she coaxes it alive and the mare huddles closer to her. She feels a little less lonely.

* * *

Battered and enervated, her mare carries her to the large looming gate of Snowburn, Beca is slumped forwards, clinging onto the reins. As the gatesmen come out to intercept her arrival, she feels her legs loosen and she slides off the horse sideways, falling to the grass heavily. Unable to lift herself up, she lays there until one of the guards pulls her upright into a sitting position.

"Letia," she croaks, bringing her right hand up.

He takes a long look at her ring before nodding.

"To me! The Thane of Letia needs medical attention!"

* * *

It's her second day of recovery (starvation, dehydration, and an untreated gash are surprisingly not the greatest way to treat her body) that the King finally agrees to see her. Limping into the throne room, she willingly gives up her weapons this time, and approaches the King, regal and proud, on his golden throne.

"My King," she attempts to kneel as best as she can, nearly collapsing.

"Rise," he booms, his voice thundering in the echoing grandeur of the building. "You have come a long way to see me, young lady."

Looking up, she addresses him directly (as her father always instructed her to do), "The village of Letia came under a raid by a group of bandits for the first time two summers ago. Since then, the former Thane, my father, sent for help from nearby villages. But that proved futile, Letia is now little more than charred remains of a once thriving village, and my father is deceased. So now I am before you asking for your aid, your Highness."

"You are aware we are currently in a battle with the nearby kingdom of Oucyana?"

Her voice wavers, "Yes, your Majesty."

"Where was Letia when we called for extra supplies for our soldiers? Where was Letia when we had a call to arms? Where?"

Beca swallows her indignant anger, and replies as evenly as she can manage, "The bandits trampled all of our crops and burned our supplies last season, we had nothing to send Snowburn, for we had not even enough to sustain our people. As for your call to arms, we have no warriors among us and of hands, we had none to spare, for we were rebuilding."

"And we have none to spare either," the King replies.

Beca stands, her leg straining with the effort. "Very well."

"Wait!" A young woman with flowing red hair, the color of autumn leaves, rushes up to the King's side and smooths her white dress down. "Uncle, why not station some of our riders in Letia? It's close to our most unprotected border."

"Silence," the King demands. "This matter isn't for children."

But the woman must be around Beca's age; if he so readily dismisses her for her age, perhaps it's his reasoning for refusing Beca.

"But Uncle-"

"I said silence, Chloe," he sighs, his chest suddenly wracked by violent coughs. "There is nothing we can offer Letia. We have taken care of their Thane for two days, but that is the extent of our hospitality."

The King's niece turns to Beca apologetically, and her blue eyes pierce Beca's unnervingly. Swallowing with difficulty, Beca bows one last time before staggering out with the aid of a nearby healer.

And as she makes it outside, she still silently thanks the Princess for jumping to her defense. Thoughts of kindness won't do her, or her village much good though.

* * *

As Beca readies to leave, she is stopped by a soldier, a full helmet obscuring his face from her.

"Yes?"

Lifting the visor, the soldier is revealed to be the Princess, who grins at her. Surprised, Beca huddles closer to her, in an attempt to block others from noticing Chloe's true identity. "What are you doing, Princess?"

"I have my own legion of horse riders," Chloe informs her. "We will ride to Letia with you and help you rebuild and defend your village."

"But the war?"

Shaking her head, Chloe assures her, "Oucyana is weak, on the brink of collapse. We have a surplus of provisions and lumber, in fact."

"So the King refused me out of spite?" Beca's not shocked really.

"Thane Allen sent a messenger ahead of you claiming you assaulted him?"

Beca shares a secret smile with the Princess. "A well-deserved assault."

"I'm sure. But Thane Allen is one of Uncle's favorite, so he wasn't too happy with you even prior to your arrival."

It makes sense now. Political maneuverings have never been Beca's strong suit.

"Won't you get in trouble for disobeying the King?"

"He will look like a fool if he has to bring us back by force," Chloe insists. "My men are loyal only to me."

A seed of hope plants itself into Beca's heart and she thinks, maybe, yes, maybe, her village is saved.

* * *

Upon arriving back to the village, Beca's people greet her with an exhausted relief. True to her word, Chloe and her troops distribute some provisions to the starving people of Letia, and afterwards begin to chop down nearby trees for the use of rebuilding homes. Perhaps the sight of the King's banner keeps the bandits away, for they turn away almost automatically after a steady approach towards the village.

Beca finds herself a bit enamored with the Princess, and how can she not? Chloe has come against her Uncle's wishes to be Beca's savior. Even when things look grim, like a wild pack of wolves injuring several villagers and soldiers, Chloe manages to keep a positive outlook. She sits by a hurt child and nurtures him back to health, even though there are more pressing building projects going on.

Watching Chloe's eyes crinkle in amusement as she talks to the little boy, Beca's chest tightens and she feels something in her gut coil with heat.

Beca has to remind herself, she's a _Princess_. Unattainable.

* * *

Spring's chilly temperature melts and merges into warmer days as summer approaches.

"Thank you," Beca finds herself saying the words that are long overdue. "You don't understand how much you have done for us."

The two of them sit around a small campfire, Chloe's mouth wrapped around a pipe, and they watch the sun set slowly as the villagers and soldiers clean up for the end of the day. "Then I hope one day I will be able to appreciate Letia in its full glory again."

"Why did you want to help us?" Is she truly that kind? The Princess must hear sob stories of all sorts daily in court.

Chloe regards her carefully, "I saw you when they brought you in, you looked awful."

"Well thanks," Beca laughs, "Just what I wanted to hear."

"That's not what I meant!" The Princess giggles with her before continuing more seriously, setting her pipe aside. "I just thought, a Thane that dedicated to helping her people must be very desperate. That you must've cared about your people a great deal."

"This is all I have left," Beca accidentally reveals.

"And I knew I would do anything in my power to help you," she says, her expression very serene.

It's not a conscious decision, but Beca leans closer to her, focused on her lips, soft and pink. But as she nears the Princess, Beca realizes what's about to happen and turns her head away, embarrassed.

"It's okay," Chloe whispers. "To kiss me."

Is it?

Beca shakes her head, "I can't."

If she's disappointed, Chloe doesn't let it show.

* * *

As Beca labors side by side to Chloe's captain, Jesse, she wipes the sweat from her brow and continues to chop the pieces of fire wood. He gives a huge heave and leaves the axe embedded in the tree stump. Resting on the handle, he speaks for the first time today, "Do not think to take advantage of the Princess' kindness, Thane of Letia."

Surprised, Beca turns to him. "What do you mean?"

"She trusts easily, do not break that," he warns. "She is the most benevolent person I have ever met, do not change that."

"I don't plan to," Beca says, and it's true. "I am extremely grateful for all the help she's given us. Without her there would be nothing here anymore."

"Do not mistake affection for gratefulness." He walks away, searching for more wood.

Beca pants heavily, considering his words.

* * *

One day, the King's messenger arrives, out of breath and presents Chloe with a scroll. She shows it to a curious Beca.

_The War with Oucyana is drawing to a close, but my health is failing, Chloe. Snowburn needs you. I need you._

Chloe's face is blank as she looks at the crackling fire in Beca's tent.

"Letia is in a considerably stable condition," Beca states. "We can survive on our own now, perhaps with some struggle, but we will manage. The King needs you, Princess."

Spinning around, Chloe looks at her, determined, "I will return eventually, Beca." It's the first time she's been referred to by her given name since her father passed away. For some reason, the way Chloe's mouth forms the syllables makes Beca feel vaguely warm.

"We will do fine, I would not want to impose," Beca persists, trying to convince Chloe of the reality they are living in. "You will be busy, with your war and your people."

Chloe gently touches her wrist, a shock of touch, and whispers, "I would return for you, Beca. Or do you not want me to?"

"Princess, how could that ever work? We would see each other once a season? You would eventually marry a man or woman capable of performing royal duties. I would have to stay here for my people." Her questions probably expose exactly how much she's thought about this issue.

"I will be Queen one day," she says with confidence. "And a Queen can do what she wants."

* * *

She departs with her soldiers the next day and Beca feels like Chloe's taken part of her away too; the fearless part and the strong part of her, both gone, and what's left is merely a shell. Still, Beca is the Thane of Letia and she has a village to rebuild.

She never fully forgets the Princess (how can she when she owes Chloe everything?) and she lingers at the back of Beca's mind, inserting herself into her thoughts and musings.

* * *

Many seasons pass, it must be two or three summers, Beca thinks, before she sees the Princess again. Beca expects a legion of accompanying soldiers, a large procession, trumpets announcing her arrival, but it never happens. Instead, Beca tends to the village matters thinking that maybe indeed the Princess has forgotten her promise. Forgotten Beca.

Two riders arrive in Letia one hot summer day, side by side in light travel garments. Beca catches sight of bright red hair and her heart leaps as she rushes to the village entrance.

Chloe dismounts and runs into Beca's arms, catching her by surprise.

Struggling to detach herself, Beca kneels to the ground immediately.

"My Queen."

Disappointed by her reaction, Chloe pulls her to her feet and says, "I promised to return and I have."

"So you did," Beca replies as respectfully as she can manage. "I apologize for questioning if you were a woman of your word."

Chloe takes in the sight of the newly rebuilt Letia. "I'm glad things worked out here."

"It was no easy feat," Beca admits. "But we had a lot of help."

"With help, anything is possible," the Queen looks at her meaningfully.

Beca shoots a warning glance at the villagers around her, and they return to work, letting their Thane have her privacy. "What are you saying?"

"I need an Advisor of Commerce," she answers. "It would be you if you are willing."

"No," Beca says, a knee-jerk reaction. "I cannot leave my people."

"Nor should you," Chloe sighs. "It is what I admire the most about you, your dedication to them."

Blushing, Beca shakes her head, "I am sorry your Highness, but we both have lives to lead, paths that do not seem to meet."

"I am the Queen of Snowfold, Pilandria, and now Oucyana," Chloe draws herself tall. "I do not just follow the roads, I build them."

"You would force me to go with you?"

"No," Chloe says, softer. "I would give up my title as Queen and let Jesse rule as regent in my place. We are in a prosperous time, Thane of Letia, and I am not needed as urgently as you think."

"I would not think to deprive the kingdom of their Queen," Beca murmurs. "That would be too selfish of both of us."

"We have done great things for our people, Beca, and I know our work never ends," Chloe replies tiredly, drawing close, and Beca can see the lines of her face that were not there three years ago. "I want to do something even greater now. I want to love. I want your face to be the first and last thing I see every day, I want to feel my heart expand as it makes room for you, I want to know you better than I know myself."

"You would abandon your people?"

"Never," Chloe is adamant. "I would return when they needed me, I would fight for them."

It's exhilarating, thinking that this can work out. That she could love and be loved in return.

"Beca," Chloe whispers, the sun hitting her face blindingly. "We are a Thane and a Queen, what isn't possible for us?"

Indeed, Beca thinks. They have reborn an entire village from ashes and dust, why not something simple then too, like love?

And she kisses Chloe, in full view of her villagers (some cheer), and she feels like maybe Chloe has rebuilt her too.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks once more for reading, and cookies for those who reviewed/favorited/followed (jk I can't afford). Leave a review if it so suits you, see you tomorrow for the last one, Day 7: Gender Bent.**

**Cheers.**


	7. 7 Genderbent

**A/N: For Bechloe week, Day 7: Genderbent. **

**Chapter Rating: T**

* * *

"You can't be serious, everyone's seen it!"

Beck shuts his locker closed a bit too loudly, a few of the neighboring sophomores shoot him startled looks. Sighing, he runs a hand through his scraggly brown hair, all the while maintaining his nonchalant posture.

"Jessica, I told you before, I don't like movies," he leans against the locker, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his black jeans. "I have places to be," and he bumps into her lightly as he walks away, lifting his backpack behind him with his other hand, forearm resting on his shoulder.

Forlorn, Jessica watches him leave and turns around, light chestnut curls swinging, and heads to her next class. Her crush on Beck obviously isn't reciprocated, but she still can't help herself from talking to him. He's everything she's ever wanted; quiet and brooding, always listening to music from the headphones slung around his neck, sarcastic and clever in his responses, and he's handsome in a traditional sense, like a statue carved from marble. Why wouldn't she like him?

* * *

Walking down the hallway, Beck ignores the chaos of the school hallway (a football sailing through the air, a girl squealing as her boyfriend tickles her) and hunches his back, keeping his head down low (which isn't hard anyway, he's pretty short for a guy). He can't wait to get out of this place, basically a confining prison where hormonal teenagers are packed in here like sardines. People say that high school is the best time of your life, but Beck disagrees vehemently. It's the first week of school and he already can't wait for it to be over.

Turning into his first class of the day, AP Physics, Beck nearly runs into one of the jocks, Austin or August, he doesn't remember. The jock shoots him a warning glare, to which Beck merely ignores and pushes past him. Moody jocks are not his problem.

The room is arranged with three rows of five tables designed for two people each and Beck heads to the back of the classroom, as per the seating chart on the overhead projector. There's already someone at the table he's assigned to, another one of the jocks, popular, gets all the girls type of guy. Tanned white skin, red hair styled in a fauxhawk, and bright blue eyes that sparkle with amusement, designer clothing, matched with a mischievous smile. AP Physics is not going to be fun, he thinks decidedly.

As he sets down his backpack against the radiator behind the desk, his table partner surprises him by speaking.

"Hey, you play keyboard, don't you?"

Beck looks around to make sure he's not talking to someone else. "Maybe." He readies himself for an insult or something.

The guy he nearly bumped into earlier hisses at Beck's table partner, "Cole, what are you doing?"

Ignoring him, Cole smiles at Beck very simply, "You should join our band."

Well, that's certainly not what he expected.

"Who's in it?" Beck figures he should at least see what the hell this dude is on about.

"August," he points at the glowering jock, "Me," at himself, "Cedric-Roosevelt, and Lionel." Those two are a bit of a shock to him, since they're not in the popular circles, especially not Lionel.

"So you're like a boy band," Beck smirks, his tone a slight bit condescending.

"Yeah," Cole nods, not embarrassed by the admittance. "We do covers mostly."

"Like of what, One Direction?" Beck snickers. "Sorry, it's just, it's kind of gay."

August gives a laugh of disbelief, "There's nothing gay about five guys singing songs about love and loss."

"Yeah," Beck pulls out the word. "No."

Cole looks like a hurt puppy, his blue eyes downcast.

It's crazy, but Beck kind of feels bad. "I don't even sing, sorry."

Luckily the teacher walks in at that exact moment yelling for the class to shut up.

* * *

It's a brutally long day, teachers yapping on and on about things Beck couldn't care less about even if he tried. By the time he gets home, he's sick of people in general, and just wants to get back to mixing some songs together. Unfortunately it doesn't seem meant to be; his dad blocks his passage up the stairs.

"How was school?"

"Okay," Beck says, trying to push past him.

Dr. Mitchell stops him sternly, "There's no hurry Beckett, no time for your old man?"

Resigning himself to this fate, Beck stands still, "Of course I do."

"Tell me about your day then."

Urgh. Seriously? Beck fidgets, "Same old. Teachers were boring, classmates were stupid, you know."

"No, I don't know," Dr. Mitchell insists. "Tell me."

"There's not really much to say, Dad," Beck rolls his eyes, shifting his backpack to the ground.

"Are you going to join any clubs or sports this year?"

He answers honestly, "Most likely no."

"With that attitude, you're not going to get very far in life." Beck braces himself for a long lecture about his future (or lack of one). Instead Dr. Mitchell just shakes his head, "Join one thing this year, just one, a sport, a play, a club, I don't care, and I'll pay for your way to L.A."

"What?" Now he has Beck's full attention. "Serious?"

"Only if you really try."

"Yeah," Beck nods, completely on board. "Yeah, I know."

"Good," his dad pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "I've got to head to the University for a meeting, I'll see you later sport."

Fuck yes! Beck takes the steps two at a time up the stairs in elation, suddenly energized.

* * *

He attempts to mix Can't Hold Us and Here's To Never Growing Up together, but the two songs refuse to cave to his tweaking. It's like Avril and Macklemore are looking at each other from across the room, shaking their heads. Losing track of the time, Beck doesn't even notice that it's suddenly nearing midnight, and shit he hasn't done his homework. He takes out his AP Statistics worksheet and tiredly scribbles the various variable names on the lines provided. By the time he finishes, it's nearing two in the morning and he falls into bed gratefully.

The next morning, he misses AP Physics completely from sleeping in and only makes it to his third class in time. As a result, he receives a detention for tardiness and sleeping in class.

Whatever.

* * *

Disgusting.

That's the only word Beck can think of. He had gym for his last period, but didn't have time to shower before going to detention, so he sits in a classroom for an hour, sweating profusely.

Finally the teacher lets them go and he sprints for the locker room with his bag of extra clothes. Stripping off his shirt and pants, Beck tosses them to the side and pulls the shower handle, cold water spraying over his face.

He doesn't even notice, but because the locker room is empty, he starts singing. It's something he always does at home when showering, just second nature by now.

"You shoot me down, but I won't fall, I am-"

"Dude, you _can _sing!"

What the hell? Beck twirls around hands covering himself. Looking rather self-satisfied, his equally naked AP Physics table partner stands before him, without any shame.

"You should join our band," Cole insists, clearly ignoring the situation they're in.

"Dude," Beck looks away, his hands still shielding his private parts. "Cover your junk, seriously."

Shrugging, Cole remarks, "I don't have anything to be ashamed about."

Okay. This is way too awkward.

"Neither do you," he continues, gesturing at Beck casually. "Anyway, come to Barden Park tomorrow at five, 'kay?"

"I'll think about it," Beck says, willing to say anything as long as Cole leaves.

"See you then!" The dude takes it as a promise.

"Fuck," Beck swears, relieved he's gone. Guys compliment other guy's bodies all the time, right? It's normal? It's normal to be kind of flattered, right?

* * *

But he goes all the same. He tells himself it's to fulfill the stipulation his father's put on him moving to L.A., but Beck is a tiny bit curious on whether they're any good or not. From afar, he watches the four guys set up their equipment, moving various speakers and microphones around a small stone stage at the edge of the park.

Cole's expression is intent as August talks to him and suddenly wipes away an eyelash from his cheek, before returning to plugging in his bass. The intimate action has something hot flash in Beck's gut and he looks away oddly embarrassed.

Catching sight of him, Cole's face lights up and waves him over, "Beck!"

He's not sure how the dude knows his name, but looks around to make sure no one's watching as he walks towards them.

"Yo," he greets, hand up in a half-hearted wave.

Beck scrutinizes the members of the band more closely, wondering if they'll actually be able to pull this off. Lionel sports an unfortunate looking bowlcut that makes him appear to be extremely Asian and several years younger than he actually is, and silently watches them interact with large bugged out eyes. In total contrast, Cedric-Roosevelt has several dreadlocks wrapped around his head (one streaked pink), his dark skin shining glossily in the sun. Lastly is August, pale skin burned slightly pink from standing outside for too long, cropped blonde hair (reminding him of a military cut), and sharp grey eyes that seem to pierce with his gaze.

Yeah, okay, appearance-wise they could pull off a boy band, but musically? Beck's not so sure.

Out of nowhere, Cole riffs a random chord on the bass, alternating between the root and third quickly, his fingers deftly plucking a solid rhythm. To Beck's extreme surprise, Lionel picks up a microphone and starts beatboxing, laying down an intricate beat that matches Cole's near perfectly. And while Beck doesn't like August at all, he still has to admit the dude's got skill as August picks up a three chord progression melody from Cole's original key and mixes it up a bit. Lastly, Cedric-Roosevelt picks up the second microphone and starts free style rapping like Beck's never witnessed before.

Suitably impressed at the end, Beck just asks, "Why do you even need me then?"

"Keyboard," August deadpans. "Our keyboardist graduated last year."

"Do I gotta audition?"

"Are you shit?"

Beck squirms under his judging glance, "No."

"Then you're in," Cole laughs, his teeth showing off brilliantly.

* * *

The first practice goes fairly well, Cedric-Roosevelt ("Just call me C.R.") shows Beck the basic chords in some of their original songs. Afterwards, Beck swings his backpack onto his shoulder and begins to head out of the park. A hand is placed firmly on his shoulder, stopping his departure.

Squinting his eyes a tiny bit, Cole offers with a friendly grin, "Need a ride home, Beck?"

"Nah, I'm good," it's not that a ride home isn't enticing, it's that he thinks it'd be an awkward ride.

Cole tilts his head, his eyes seemingly teal in the light, "You sure, man? We're friends now and everything."

"Well, you've seen me naked." It's meant to come out as a joke, but Jesus Christ it sounds…flirty?

Smirking, Cole acknowledges it, "Couldn't help myself."

God, what is he doing? Beck takes a step back, distancing himself from the conversation. "Yeah, gotta run, dude." Bouncing backwards, Beck says, "See ya," and takes off running back home.

He doesn't look back.

Arriving back at his house, Beck slams the door shut and leans against it heavily, panting. He's sure his heart is pounding furiously from the jog home and not from Cole's words. Definitely not Cole's words. Even if he's never felt so good about himself in ever.

* * *

The next day in AP Physics, the teacher announces a quiz in three days and advises them to study. Beck furrows his brow, frustrated.

"Need help?"

He looks at his partner who looks at him. "I'm okay."

Reaching over his arm, Cole tugs Beck's paper towards him and points at the question he's stuck on. "You should recheck your calculations on this one."

Honestly, does he not know what personal space is? Sighing, Beck does as he says, realizing he's written a two instead of a five and that's resulted in a wrong answer. "Thanks." He doesn't say more for fear of encouraging more (overly) friendly interaction.

"Dude, wanna hang out after school?"

Beck's nose scrunches up, unsure of how to answer that. "I'm busy."

"Come on," Cole nudges him, and Beck's stomach flips with the contact. "We'll go skateboarding or something if you want."

No. Beck's busy. Well, he's not, but he doesn't need friends. He doesn't need distractions. He doesn't need this.

"I really can't," Beck lies, refocusing on his worksheet. "Got tons of stuff to do."

"Alright, your loss, Beckett," Cole replies good-naturedly, turning back to his own paper.

He ignores the way his throat closes as Cole calls him by his full name. It shouldn't make him feel like smiling, yet it does.

* * *

The second time the band meets up, August has exciting news, "I booked us a gig at Allen's party."

"Allen?"

"Bunny Allen," August clarifies.

Cole groans, "God, I hate her."

Beck's surprised, he assumed Cole just liked everyone and befriended them just as easily. But apparently even he has standards, 'cause Bunny is truly one of the vilest human beings Beck's ever met. She spreads rumors viciously and insults those who she feels aren't "hot" or "popular". Bunny's a cliché straight from a book.

"It'll be a large party," C.R. says logically. "We probably won't even see her."

"Yeah, I know," Cole murmurs, still looking a bit reluctant.

Lionel whispers something so quietly that none of them catch it on the first try. He speaks a tiny bit louder (which is only a slight improvement), "She's a bitch."

Clearly, he's been on the sharp side of Bunny's tongue more than once. Beck makes a sympathetic face, unsure what else to say.

August shakes his head, "Regardless, we've got to throw together a set list or something."

"Well, we have to sing something for the girls, 'cause there's gonna be lots of them there," Cole supplies. Something about the way he mentions girls makes Beck feel annoyed, like of course that's why he's in a band, to get girls. "We could sing one song from 1D."

"Sure," August types it into his phone, saving it in a note. "What else?"

"How about some David Guetta?" Beck deliberately avoids Cole's eyes, not wanting to think back to the shower stint.

"Like what?"

"Without You," Beck decides quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cole looks a bit disappointed, but still supports his choice, "I love that song, man."

His approval for the song shouldn't mean so much, but Beck still feels his chest ache at his words.

* * *

God, what's wrong with him? Beck sits dejectedly at his desk, kicking one of the bedposts. He's not gay. Just because he's never found a girl he likes a lot doesn't mean anything. The only thing that proves is that his standards for dating are high. Straight girls have like small crushes on other girls don't they? That's what he feels for Cole. It's just a guy-crush. It's not significant, doesn't mean anything.

Just because he thinks about Cole a lot when there's nothing even remotely linking to the guy doesn't mean he likes the dude. Just because his mixes have gotten a lot more upbeat and pop-esque since joining Cole's band doesn't mean he likes the guy. Just because he dreams about wrapping Cole-

Beck shakes his head.

What the hell is wrong with him?

It's nothing. Jesus Christ.

It's nothing.

* * *

"You wanna hang out some time?" Beck gives Jessica some credit, she's persistent as hell (reminds him of Cole, but it really shouldn't).

Thinking slowly, Beck looks Jessica up and down, gears grinding in his head. She's a great girl, nice, funny, not too clingy or possessive, smart, quick to be helpful, really cute too. There must be something broken in him if he doesn't like her.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Anything," Jessica shrugs. "We can get ice cream or something."

He looks at her hopeful brown eyes, and nods, "Yeah sure."

"Great!" She smiles like she's won a big prize or something.

But Beck doesn't feel anything.

Just vaguely empty.

* * *

"Why do you hate movies so much?" Jessica asks as she snakes her tongue out to lick the chocolate swirls of ice cream on her cone. "Just curious."

"I mean, they're so predictable," Beck gestures with his free hand. "You know what's gonna happen in the middle. You know the nice looking guy is actually the murderer, you know the guy's gonna get the girl or vice versa, you know Harry Potter's not gonna die in the first movie or the second or the third or the hundredth."

"Yeah, but predictable stories aren't all so bad," Jessica says. "Look, if Harry Potter died in the second movie, what would be left to tell?"

"I guess if I want predictable, I'd just listen to high school gossip," he shrugs.

Jessica laughs at that, "True enough."

* * *

"So are you dating Jessica?"

"Where'd you hear that, C.R.?" Beck asks amusedly, walking to class.

"It's none of my business," C.R. acquiesces, "But I just thought you kind of had a thing for-"

"For who?" Beck can feel the blood rushing through his ears in panic.

"Bunny," C.R. says, but Beck feels like he was about to say someone drastically different.

Still, Beck relaxes at the name, "Nah."

"Yeah, was gonna tell you not to go for Bunny," C.R. smirks. "Can be fun for two seconds until you figure out she's crazy."

"Thanks for looking out for me, man," slapping him on the back lightly, Beck signals that his classroom is just up ahead.

"Yeah, anything for you Beck," C.R. nods, "We don't care who you like, you're still you."

And maybe C.R. knows.

* * *

And maybe it's not the end of the world to try and get to know Cole better. Maybe it's just a curiosity and Beck only sort of likes Cole because he doesn't know the guy well enough. So the next day in AP Physics, Beck clears his throat, drawing Cole's attention to him, a quick flicker from his lips to his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna hang later?"

* * *

It should feel weird, but everything's just so easy with Cole. Beck feels strangely relaxed, like he doesn't have to try so hard to be sullen or quiet. Like it's okay to tell Cole anything.

"Dude, his face when he tripped," Cole slaps Beck's chest with the back of his hand playfully. "Wanna come over?"

That's not a good idea, is it? Beck doesn't know what's right or wrong anymore. There's no harm in just hanging.

"Sure, man."

* * *

They're playing a street fighter game against each other, trying to trick each other to get ahead. Beck doesn't think he's ever smiled as hard as he has today.

That's it, isn't it?

Beck's never had a good friend like this. He must be mistaking friendship for something more, or some shit like that.

Picking up a flyer from the floor, he asks Cole, "You seeing the play?"

"I'm in it," Cole grins, delighting in the way Beck's face contorts in confusion.

"Why? Acting's kinda gay."

Cole's brow furrows, "Why do you say it's gay?"

"Like, it's lame," Beck answers.

"But why say gay? Why not just say it's not something you like?"

Beck shrugs, "I don't know, dude. People say it all the time."

"Yeah, but you don't have to be like everyone else," Cole answers, his tone a bit disappointed.

For some reason, Beck feels ashamed, genuinely ashamed. He's spent all of middle school and high school trying to be different from the fakes, the plastics, the guys who pretend to be something they aren't to seem cool, and maybe, maybe he's just like them.

Sitting in the silence and relative darkness, Cole nudges his shoulder with his own. "That was too harsh of me. Sorry."

"No, you're right." He feels brave for a split second, like he can be different, like he can be true to himself. He leans forward, close to Cole, their faces inches apart. "I shouldn't have said that."

Cole's eyes lock in on his lips and he says, "You're a good guy, Beck, don't be too hard on yourself."

The validation is enough for Beck's eyes to water, and squeezing his eyes shut, he swoops forward and quickly presses his lips against Cole's. He thinks any moment now Cole will push him away disgusted or even worse, gently rejecting him. But Cole's arms wrap around his body and his hands fist in Beck's shirt. Cole kisses him back, hard, their noses brushing together, and Beck just holds on, the taller boy anchoring him to this one moment of complete satisfaction.

And it feels like everything in his life has led up to this one moment; it feels like this one moment has finally explained everything.

"Fuck," Beck sobs, eyes still dry, but throat aching.

Cole cradles Beck's head against his chest, warm hands on his cheek and back.

* * *

Beck avoids Cole for the next week, making up dodgy excuses to not attend AP Physics or band practices.

One day, the doorbell rings and Beck lets his dad answer it. A moment later, he hears a muffled greeting and conversation. Opening his door a crack, he hears more clearly-

"Thanks, Dr. Mitchell."

"No problem, Beck's upstairs in his room, first door on your right."

Shit. Beck looks around his room for a means to escape. He could jump out the window…? Or hide in the bathroom and pretend to be taking a really long shower?

Too late.

"Hey," Cole says, simple, but not confronting.

"Hey," Beck manages, trying to look at ease.

"Sup man?"

And it all goes back to normal so easily it frightens Beck. It feels like maybe they never kissed. Maybe he was just dreaming. But he recalls the feeling of Cole's lips, rough and solid, against his own so clearly.

* * *

They don't talk about it, just keep hanging, sometimes Cole seems to want to kiss again, but Beck draws away at the last minute, afraid of wanting it too much.

The band performs several gigs after Bunny Allen's party, getting a few fans on Facebook in the process. It keeps Beck's mind busy and away from thoughts of Cole and his smile. Between homework and the band, Beck is surprised at how quickly the year passes, that's it's already Spring, that prom is drawing close and graduation as well.

True to his word, Dr. Mitchell agrees to pay for Beck's way to L.A., and for the first time since his mom passed, Beck hugs his dad.

"Thanks."

Dr. Mitchell pats him awkwardly on the back.

* * *

"You going to prom?"

Beck freezes, unsure how to answer Cole. Is that Cole asking him to prom? Or just a casual question?

"Just asking," Cole senses his anxiety.

"I don't think so."

"You only get one senior prom," Cole says sensibly.

In a moment of honesty, Beck admits, "I don't have anyone to go with."

"You can go with me," he offers. "As bros, if you want."

Beck imagines it in his head, walking onto the dance floor, holding Cole's hand, wearing matching tuxedos. Cole smiling at him as they sway, pretending to dance, neither leading. But he knows it's silly. Maybe if no one else was going.

"I'll pass."

"I like you, Beck," Cole suddenly says, a burst of confidence. "Like a lot. Like more than just friends. Like I love you."

"Yeah," Beck whispers. "I know."

"I don't care what anyone says," Cole grabs his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "I want to be with you."

Beck can't help it, the way he surges forward and brings Cole's mouth to his desperately.

"God, I don't know how to do this," Beck admits, voice quiet.

"Just go with me to prom," Cole says, everything about him steady. "It doesn't have to be hard."

"I can't," Beck shakes his head. "I can't."

Cole's disappointed look reflects Beck's own disappointment with himself.

* * *

"You're not going to prom!?" Jessica looks aghast.

Beck shakes his head.

"Well, go with me then," she smiles.

"Jess," he sighs, "You could get any guy you want as a date."

"Yeah, but I want you to go with me."

He can understand that. Wanting someone so intensely. "You deserve someone who really likes-"

"As friends, Beck," she clarifies. "I want you to come with me to prom as friends."

And yeah, maybe he can do that. A small part of him wants to get all dressed up, wear a smart suit, a matching tie, hold his arm out gallantly and all that stupid shit. And a large part of him wants to see Cole there, maybe he can't go with Cole, but he can see him there.

* * *

Beck picks up Jessica from her house, admiring her dress, a light green that matches her eyes well. He does everything by the book, complimenting her, commenting how beautiful she looks, and she beams at him. As they step into the decorated auditorium, Beck feels like this is one of the moments he's going to remember forever, the lights, the balloons, the beautiful dresses and tuxedos.

About halfway through the fifth song, Beck spots Cole (not that he's been scouring the crowds for him since they arrived). Jessica notices his stare and elbows him in the ribs, "Go."

"Huh?"

"Go for it," Jessica says.

"How did you know?" He should be frightened, should be scared that another person knows his secret.

Jessica kisses his cheek sweetly, "You said you didn't like predictable endings. So you can stay here and dance with me like every other teenage prom movie, or you can go over there and make an ending worth watching."

Beck turns his head, and watches Cole laugh at something Betsy Applebaum says and decides.

He strides over there as fast as he can, pushing gently through the sea of dancing couples.

"Cole."

His face lights up just like that first practice. "Beck! You came."

"I spent so much time trying to not be like everyone else, that I became just like them," Beck says, gripping his arm. "But I fucking like you so much."

Cole looks around cautiously, noting that some people are turning their heads to look at them.

"I love you," he whispers, so that only Cole can hear it. "I love your stupid haircut, your smile, the way you hold your bass."

"My haircut isn't-"

"I wanna do all those cheesy things with you. I wanna slow dance with you to a fast song. I wanna walk up the stairs slowly, talking to you, making the people behind us angry. I wanna tell people, 'No, actually, he's my _boyfriend._'"

There are more stares now, but Cole settles his gaze on Beck, never looking away.

"Aren't you jumping the gun on the boyfriend bit?" Cole teases with a smirk, his eyes creasing beautifully.

"No, I'm months late," Beck says. He holds Cole's hand firmly, leading him to the dance floor.

There's people pointing and whispering, but Beck focuses on Cole.

This is his last prom; he's gonna spend it how he likes.

With someone who is worth it.

* * *

**A/N: Last day, goodness, it's been a great week! Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited and followed. You guys are so amazing! Leave a review if it so suits you :) Love you all.**

**A few notes:**

**1. Here is a Master List of PP characters and their counterparts in this story: Beca - Beck, Chloe - Cole, Aubrey - August, Cynthia-Rose - Cedric-Roosevelt, Lilly - Lionel, Jesse - Jessica, Bumper - Bunny, Benji - Betty.**

**2. As I was typing this I came to the conclusion that if Beca and Chloe had indeed been two male characters, they would've gotten together fosho at the end of PP. **

**3. If you have any questions, I'm on tumblr: amiphobic . tumblr . com**

**Cheers!**


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